


A Ghoul's Guide to Life, Death & Afterliving

by MercurySkies



Series: A Ghoul's Guide to Life, Death & Afterliving [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: AU, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dark Comedy, Fluff, Ghost!Shane, Humor, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mild Gore, Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-03-02 13:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 57,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13319340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurySkies/pseuds/MercurySkies
Summary: 'Shane was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that, to quote ‘the’ Charles Dickens with an emphasis on the 'dick'. They didn’t tell you the great Victorian novelist was also a grade A asshole in high school but then again what do they tell you in high school? Shane Madej was dead, as dead as one disembodied soul standing seemingly above his own corpse probably can be.'





	1. What the Dickens?

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy here we go! I'm gonna go on a little undead jaunt with a fictional version of the ghouligans and try not to hate myself too much along the way
> 
>  **Trigger warnings:** There are some descriptions of what it might be like to be dead here within, it sort of comes with the territory. Please do not read if gallows or macabre humour, and a irreverence of death in general makes you uncomfortable, it's nothing that couldn't be said in the show but just to be sure.
> 
> Additionally I'll be adding to the tags as I go, I don't want to give the game away too early but I want to make sure y'all are warned.

Shane was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that, to quote ‘the’ Charles Dickens with an emphasis on the 'dick'. They didn’t tell you the great Victorian novelist was also a grade A asshole in high school but then again what do they tell you in high school? Shane Madej was dead, as dead as one disembodied soul standing above his own corpse probably can be. The transition hadn’t exactly been a smooth one. He was dying, then dead, and then there, he supposed standing, it sort of felt like standing above his lifeless body, cold and still on his bathroom floor. He looks himself over, both the physical him and the _whatever_ he is now and finds very little difference. He’s surprised he can actually see his reflection in the mirror of his bathroom cabinet, very clearly dead judging by his pale complexion but at least he’s not covered in drool like his actual body is and he gives thanks for small mercies as he’s pretty sure living an eternal afterlife with his spectral body mirroring his physical one would suck. Rigor mortis and being covered in the inevitable bodily fluids: it's not a good look. He’d liked that shirt too.

“Well, shit.” He says or sort of says. He can hear his own voice but it’s as if it were merely a thought, no tell-tale echo from the tiles lining the walls indicative of an actual sound leaving him. He sort of stands and sort of breathes and then sort of cries. Something tears through him, like he is both breaking apart and painfully being stitched back together at the same time. His vision swims, the harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom becoming painfully bright. It becomes so bright it’s all he can see, and he thinks this must be it, he’s officially giving up the ghost, off to meet his maker.

He sort of stops being a thing after that, loses the sensation of being _almost_ and just sort of exists. He doesn’t feel bodily in the slightest, just a consciousness, suspended and unable to access any of the sensations he’d always associated with being alive, a mortal moving and breathing human. It’s weird and he immediately realises he doesn’t like it in the slightest and he thinks well _if this is what being dead is like he was probably better off alive_.

After what feels like only minutes, everything rushes back, the world materialising in an instant, hazy and different but there nonetheless. The sudden feeling of having _legs_ makes him feel like he’s once again going through his first growth spurt, when his body had decided to spring upwards and neglected to do so in mostly all other directions leaving him looking like the human equivalent of a crane fly. Once he sort of feels himself standing again he realises that perhaps more time has passed than he’d originally thought. He glances around in a daze and finds his apartment is void and empty and has maybe been that way for a while. He manages to reclaim enough of himself to walk through the small number of rooms, noticing the distinct lack of _things_ and _stuff_ that he’d once called his own. With bated breath he enters the bathroom a wave of nausea hitting him as he steps onto the tile. His body no longer lies in front of him and he’s grateful for its absence, unsure he would’ve been able to handle knowing that everything that remained of his earthly life was slowly decomposing just feet from him. He knows logically he may be decomposing _somewhere_ , but at least this way he doesn’t have to watch as his body slowly disintegrates and stinks up the place. That body is better off six feet under.

His thoughts lead him into a spiral. The emptiness suggests his family have collected anything of value and it hits him that they’ve had to bury him, had to bury their son and brother and the nausea burns through him again as he stumbles from the bathroom. He feels a vicious loss burn in his chest because they shouldn’t have had to. Regret sings through him heavy and fierce and things start to get fuzzy at the edges this time, like he’s falling asleep. He gets stuck in that feeling, the sensation like the brief moment between being asleep and awake. He can still hear, still feel, still see the empty husk of a place he’d once precariously called home but it’s all transcendental, moving and changing, slowly but noticeably as time marches on and he stays suspended in stillness.

It’s startling when eventually, he isn’t the only presence in the apartment any more. People come and go occasionally, a person who he assumes is the new landlord showing around prospective new tenants. Dust gathers in the spaces that are overlooked and the wood at his favourite window starts to disintegrate slowly, giving way to a small cavity in the sill beneath it. The landlord is nice but not particularly attentive and Shane wonders morbidly whether he’s told them about him. The first prospective tenant he encounters was an asshole and the second was someone a little too like himself. He knows there’ll be a third soon.

He couldn’t tell you how he was aware of all this when he barely felt real. He just felt it, in the shifting of time as he did little more than exist, like a surveillance camera on but not recording. He ebbs and flows, alternating from being barely present to inhabiting the closest thing to a body he thinks he’s gonna get.

When he finally starts to feel a little more _solid_ , he realises he has some shit to figure out. Primarily what the fuck you’re supposed to do with your time when your incorporeal self is stuck on earth for an indeterminate amount of time. The why’s and how’s seem a little irrelevant, almost impossible questions to even attempt to answer so he focuses on the questions he can. He embarks on testing the limits of his new form, learning by doing as he’d always preferred in life. He wanders around his own apartment and soon discovers that doors yep you can just walk through them now, walls too but it’s too weird. Entirely by accident he discovers the floating, accidentally sinking into the floor until he hovers at the ceiling of the complex’s entrance on the floor below him. The floating and phasing are fun and easy enough but feel distinctly unnatural. He rationalises it by realising he still appears to himself as he did in life, full bodied and solid, so his brain hasn’t quite caught up with the idea that he decidedly is _not_ , and can now levitate and the like.

He starts trying to tread the boundaries of what he’s capable of. He can seemingly travel anywhere on the property but when he reaches the sidewalk beyond the parking lot he mysteriously finds himself back in his bathroom every time he tries to step foot on the concrete. The tell-tale nausea returns, and he quickly backs out of the room and returns to wandering. He attempts to get the attention of some of the passers-by, of his neighbours but none of them even flinch even as he all but yodels at the top of his lungs they remain undisturbed going about their lives. No one can see him or hear him. It’s as if he doesn’t exist. But he does, sort of unconventionally but he exists, he’s pretty sure of it. Who would’ve thought the afterlife could be so lonely?

 


	2. Casper the friendly ghosting it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exposition? The introduction of an obligatory bad-ass old lady? Ghosts?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments on the first chapter folks. Honestly wasn't expecting much of a response but now there's a little validation floating around amongst the shame slowly suffocating my mortal soul so cheers for that I guess.
> 
> This is out so soon cause I already have a little bit written, be aware that if you're here for the long haul you might have to wait a bit longer here and there.

The fact that no one even seems to ‘sense’ him is a buzzkill and a half. Half the fun of being a ghost is supposed to be the haunting, but how is he supposed to attempt to run a young family out of house and home if he can’t even interact with anything. He tries all the tricks in the book, the book being every horror movie he’s ever seen, but nothing works, no flickering lights or drops in temperature. It does occur to him that the movies might be wrong, that being a ghost is a completely different ballgame to how it’s depicted on the big screen. He thinks idly about becoming the first ghost director but realises any horror movie made from his own experiences would be an hour and thirty minutes of some schmuck dicking around in his empty apartment, not exactly ‘edge of your seat’ viewing.

Another downside of the whole dead thing is that he still gets tired, bone deep and heavy. Except he doesn’t get the sweet, sweet sanctuary of sleep which is incredibly unfair. So much for eternal rest. On the upside the tiredness is a familiar feeling, it’d plagued him so much in life that it’s almost comforting that it’s still with him, grounds him in knowing he’s still pretty much experiencing the same existence. He’s the same person, just dead, he’s no doubt changed somewhere in the process of becoming so but he’s still Shane. It’s weird that he’s still so attached to his sense of identity when he can actively enter a state that feels like he’s nothing more than a brain floating in empty space.

So, with the whole haunting thing a relative bust he does just about one of the few things he can do and that’s mope around the apartment complex. He doesn’t wanna be _that_ ghost, ideally, he’d be avoiding the incorporeal cliché of stalking the halls of his place of death lamenting his demise but there’s only so much levitating a guy can do. There is however, one apartment he’s been avoiding paying a visit to. Mrs Allison McGowan lives in the apartment directly above Shane’s, the only neighbour Shane ever really took a liking to, she’s a wonderfully mischievous old woman with a wit so acerbic that Shane has always felt like he could talk to her, about anything and know she would only speak the honest truth from her still young heart. The thought of no longer hearing her sardonic soliloquies or being on the receiving end of her banter, cuts him deep and he isn’t sure he’ll be able to stand being in her presence and having her look right through him.

Therefore, he feels only slightly awful when he materialises in her living room on the second floor and almost results in her untimely demise and having a partner in crime on his little undead jaunt. “Fuck” He curses, flailing slightly as he moves too quickly to steady her, a move ultimately useless. “Language young man!” She replies, hand clutching her chest like a lady clutching at her pearls, more scandalised by his phrasing than the fact he’s practically phased through her front door. “You can see me?” He says excitedly.

“Unfortunately.” She deadpans.

“Ouch, that bad huh?” He winces, grinning from ear to ear. Right, he’s got that whole deathly pallor thing going on.

“Oh hush, you know I’m referring to the circumstances.” She says looking so sad and Shane hates himself a little more for it. She is another reminder of what he’s left behind, the fact that she can see him in this state, even though it's not ideal it’s still somewhat of a silver lining. “Your handsome face startled me.” She says not dwelling on it. The fondness in her voice makes his chest feel tight and he knows that if it were possible, she’d be on her tiptoes in an instant, hands softened by age and rose scented hand cream cupping his cheeks as she gets a good look at him. Tiptoes were never quite enough though and he’d begrudgingly bend down, shoulders hunching so she could reach him.

“I can’t believe someone can actually see me.” He says incredulously. He’s been sure he’d be spending his eternity unseen.

“Well I can see some of you.” She replies, chuckling. She twists her hands in front of her like she’s not quite sure what to do with them.

“Am I not full bodied?” He says, realising he probably appears differently to the living “I was hoping I’d be like 70% leg instead of 80.”

“Nope still tall just-  oh how do I put this... delicately?” She says, eyebrows knitting together.

“I’m _dead_ Allison,” he says, cheekily using her first name, “the only thing you can hurt is my feelings.” The look she gives him is reproachful and Shane shrugs nonchalantly, but he feels cowed and knows Mrs McGowan can tell. “You’re decidedly a little more see-through.” She answers and Shane stares, mouth agape for a moment before losing it, laughter bordering on hysterical as it inches its way out of his throat. “I’m Casper the friendly fucking ghost!” He exclaims, laughing wildly and it keeps hitting him in waves that he’s dead, and a ghost and how fucking _insane_ is that? “Now really.” Mrs McGowan says but she’s smiling, and Shane feels light for the first time since the whole dying thing.

“You’re kind of flickering in and out of view. One moment you seem practically solid and others you’re barely visible. Haven’t quite gotten the hang of it yet?” She raises an eyebrow, her cat, a fat ginger thing called Archibald hisses menacingly at he assumes him from across the room. “At being an apparition? No, I think UPS must have lost my copy of ‘The Ghoul Guide’ along with my ‘Haunting Handbook for the Recently Deceased’.”

“Even departed and you don’t know better than to sass an old lady.” She remarks with no heat just an indulgent smile. “Come.” She says gesturing to her couch. “I’ll tell you what I can.”

She explains that she’s been able to see ghosts, what Shane is, since she was a girl but certainly has never mentioned it to another ‘living’ soul. What they both gather is that due to his rather sudden departure he’s stuck in a sort of in between. Allison’s belief is that there is a plan for all souls but that some are determined to divert the course in some way or another, those who die before their time must wait for it again to proceed to what lies beyond. “So, this is a punishment?” He says sounding both solemn and annoyed. Wasn’t the life he lived enough?

There is still a part of him that is screaming that this is all bullshit, that he’s having an extremely vivid fever dream, or he’s finally lost his damn mind. He’s never put any stock in ghosts, in an afterlife, he had never believed in anything outside of an eternal oblivion. It’s an eternal oblivion he’d been hoping for, he’d been counting on it. He feels like he’s been stiffed, literally, and he finds that if he thinks about it too hard he’s scared there’ll be an anguish in him so violent he’ll be a little less Casper and a lot more Samara. Shit, he might actually have to be concerned about that.

“I know why you might think that,” she says moving her hand on the couch to where it would’ve rested on his knee, were he flesh and bone, but he feels nothing, the image of her hand sinking right through him makes him feel ill, “but I don’t think you’re deserving of any punishment real or imagined. It’s more as if you’ve left a movie theatre half way through and now have to wait for the movie to end before you can see the next showing.” He nods, some semblance of understanding surfacing from the confusion filled daze he’s been existing in.

“Movie theatre lobby limbo, right, okay.” He says and Allison laughs. “What do I do?” He asks feeling lost and small, “everything is both the same and different, I feel solid one minute and barely here in the next.” She nods silently and pauses in deep thought before she speaks again.

“Time.” She says “you’re new to this, it’ll take time to become accustomed to it, to learn what you can and can’t do. Much of what you feel might change when you can focus your energy and stabilise your spirit.”

“Stabilise my spirit? Not sure I’ve ever been synonymous with the word stable.” She ignores his obvious attempt at self-deprecating humour and continues. “Our spirit or soul or life force - whatever you want to call it - creates energy that we control. Alive we use that energy to go about our lives. In death it’s less tangible but it can be controlled in much the same way, with focus and time. For example, the reason you flicker when you appear might be because you aren’t focusing on appearing solid.” She says, sounding very knowledgeable for someone that’s still alive. He’s not the first ghost she’s seen though, there have been plenty of rookie spectres learning the ropes of ghosting before him.

“Yeah most of my energy both alive and now even dead is spent more on appearing sane than solid.” Mrs McGowan sighs like even dead he’s trying her patience. He can have that effect on people. “You’re dead Shane,” she says, and he rolls his eyes, but it has yet to have sounded so permanent, so final, “you’re dead and so far, I’m the only one that knows you’re still here. Now is not the time to worry about how sane you are and think about why you’ve ever cared about the fact in the first place.” Her words shock him into silence and he looks down at his hands, they look as solid as they ever have but something tells him Mrs McGowan can see but the faintest shadow of him. “You’re as sane as I am.” She says with a smile and he smiles back, a small, sadness tinged thing she knows all too well. “Now go, go rest in what way you can. Visit with me whenever you like, just give me a whistle, some warning, _anything_ next time.” She laughs, and he aches to squeeze her hand, anything to convey how much she has meant to him, during the short time he had known her in life and even now in his death. “See you later, Mrs McGowan” He says as he makes his way to the door and tries not to let it hurt too much when he notices she can no longer hear him. He steps through the door and into the hallway in a daze, drained and dispossessed.

He wanders aimlessly for a while. Aimless is the best description of what his life feels like now. The marching of time no longer affects him, there are no milestones to reach, no deadlines. He doesn’t know what day it is, not an uncommon occurrence but his grasp on reality is so tenuous now that he almost exists outside of it. He finds himself sitting on the small patch of grass that surrounds the apartment complex, next to flower beds dotted with wilting asters and tulips that were an obvious attempt to brighten up the place. He can relate, his time has passed too. He’s glad no one can see him as he’s pretty sure he looks pathetic, feeling sorry for himself and forlornly watching the stilted comings and goings of the tenants.

A small, silver car pulls up to the complex and parks in one of the resident’s parking spaces. The one that used to be his.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who owns that damn car, their parking is atrocious.
> 
> And megan? If you're still reading? Are you satisfied or do we gotta throw down behind a fast food establishment somewhere?


	3. Roommate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't think any of us that writes this stuff gets through it without mentioning the arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the slight delay my laptop has crashed twice today, please accept my sincere-ish apologies.

Ryan nervously tosses his keys back and forth between his hands, their cold metal and dissonant jangling loud in the quiet parking lot. It’s his third viewing in as many days and he looks up at the building that houses his potential new home with tired resignation. It’s not the sleekest complex but it's within his budget and it’s not the worst he’s seen, even as the exterior looks particularly drab and slightly foreboding under the overcast sky. It’s not a bad distance from work either and it’s also situated in one of the nicer neighbourhoods just about in his price range. _It’s temporary_ , he tells himself, just until he can set himself up properly and move somewhere nicer. He doesn't have a whole lot of time to weigh up his options, his lease on his old apartment runs out ridiculously soon and he’s strapped for both cash and time. He makes his way up the few concrete steps to the complex’s entrance and pushes the door open. He steps into a room, nothing more than a lobby lined with post boxes and one of those faded bowling alley carpets. It’s hideous but has the same disgusting charm the radical print always has, and it strangely endears him to the place.

He’s still cursing his roommate for going and moving in with his girlfriend and abandoning their perfectly nice apartment. His departure has meant he can no longer afford the rent, let alone the utilities on top, and he’s not about rooming with a stranger, so here he is. Initially he was mad, his roommate's timing hasn’t been the best, but he couldn’t begrudge him his chance to move on. Ryan is maybe just a little bitter about being left behind.

There is a certain appeal to making a go of it on his own though. It’s not new to him, he’s an adult, he’s used to handling his own shit. His own place could be a fresh start and even though the idea of knocking around an apartment all on his lonesome is slightly terrifying, he’s optimistic it’ll be good for him. Before long the landlord appears and greets him pleasantly. He doesn’t exactly introduce himself and Ryan’s forgotten his name, but he lets it slide, being on a first name basis is probably unimportant when all he’s doing is paying the guy so he can have a roof over his head. They make their way to the first floor, the landlord chatting away about how many residents the complex houses and giving him a rundown of the apartment’s specs. He’s relieved to find that it’s mostly clean and well maintained and although worn with age there’s something about the place that makes him think yeah this could be home.

The landlord fiddles uselessly with an assortment of keys for a few minutes before finally fitting one into the front door of apartment 3. It creaks open somewhat ominous, but the apartment beyond is anything but. It’s small, definitely smaller than he’s used to, but it’s flooded with the early evening light, both a kitchen and lounge window of the front facing apartment letting the setting sun fill the empty space unfettered. The day has been uncharacteristically chilly, but the apartment seems warm, a draught makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up, but it isn’t cold or unpleasant and he finds himself smiling. “So, as you can see it’s not a whole lot of square feet but the whole place is pretty open and airy.” The landlord says and Ryan nods biting his lip. He wanders over toward the kitchen, again a small affair with possibly the tiniest breakfast bar he’s ever seen but there’s something so quaint about it he can almost see himself leaning against it with his morning coffee.

He’s startled by how much he can see himself living there but figures it’s a good sign considering how short on time he is. He’d asked the standard questions over the phone, the sensible ones you’re supposed to ask so you don’t end up living in a death trap. The place is by no means perfect. The living room window has seen better days and with the slight draught the cost of heating the place might be a little pricey, but there’s just something about it. He meanders toward the bathroom, the landlord in tow to test the water pressure.

The bathroom is... well it’s a little creepy. The off-white tiles reflect the awful fluorescent light in a way that makes the room look tinged a sickly yellow. It’s a decent size, rare for an apartment so small; clean and modern enough. The whir of the extractor fan is a dreary and jarring thing but it’s not unbearable and it soon fades to white noise as Ryan focuses on fiddling with the taps and shower controls. Satisfied, he turns back toward the door, intending to check out the bedroom when the light goes out with a pop. Plunged into darkness the bathroom suddenly feels much smaller, colder, as if he hadn’t just been testing the hot water which he’d found to be piping hot. Transfixed he watches as the bathroom door clicks open, widening bit by bit to let the light from the rest of the apartment filter in. He feels himself suck in a deep breath, as if he’s been short of it the entire time the door had been closed. The door opens further, and Ryan feels something jolt within him when he realises the landlord is nowhere near it.

The landlord is already apologising, saying something about how he must’ve forgotten to change the bulb, that fluorescent fixtures could be fickle things and how most maintenance costs would be covered by the landlord should Ryan decide to move in. Ryan thinks idly about checking that’s in writing should he agree to rent the place, shrugging and rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the unease as he steps back into the main room. A wave of relief washes over him and the sense of calm and warmth returns. He marks the experience down to nothing but a draughty apartment and, as the landlord had said, fickle features. _Nowhere is perfect after all_ , he thinks as they enter the bedroom, a reasonable size with plenty of built in storage. But this might just be close enough.

 

* * *

 

It’s been two weeks. Two weeks since the small silver car had pulled haphazardly into Shane’s old parking spot. Two weeks since, _Ryan_ had shown up to check out the apartment. Two weeks living with how yeah, he looks like the kind of guy that’s constantly on a caffeine buzz but those _arms_. It had been the first time someone had shown up to view the apartment and had looked at least vaguely interested in living there. He doesn’t know if the place has a _vibe_ now that someone has died in it but even so he’s at least a little bit annoyed no one has yet to overlook any spooky atmosphere and consider it’s a neat little apartment filled with natural light that’s cheap for an L.A locale. Also, he’s bored of seeing the place so empty and he’s starting to view it as a personal affront.

He’s lazily floating around Allison’s apartment, intermittently annoying Archibald by levitating just a little too close to him and complaining loudly about how no one wants to move in to his apartment. “Are you mad no one’s moved in or are you mad _Ryan_ hasn’t?” Allison remarks dryly from her spot on the couch as she watches his antics. She has one eyebrow raised in challenge, a look which says she can see right through him. She can, both literally and figuratively. He flips himself upright as gracefully as someone with his stature can and crosses his arms. “Obviously I’d rather it goes to someone _like_ Ryan, it doesn’t necessarily have to _be_ Ryan but he’s a damn sight better than the first guy was. You would’ve hated him.” He replies, sounding a little more defensive than he would like. As if he can sense it, Archibald takes the opportunity to hiss at him threateningly. “Okay, alright you two.” Allison says rising from the couch. “Shane, I love you but you’re driving my cat insane. How about you pop back in later?” Shane sighs and nods.

“Oh, tired of me, are we?” He says with a grin “Call the exorcist!”

“Don’t tempt me.” Allison replies beaming up at him. He gives her a jaunty salute as he fades backwards through her front door.

He saunters all the way to the ground floor, taking the stairs even though he could technically just float his way out, intent on taking up his usual spot by the asters when he sees it. There’s a small silver car, parked in his spot but this time there’s a moving trailer in tow. Without even thinking about it he races back up the stairs forgetting once again that the whole levitating thing would be quicker and more convenient seriously it's one of the core perks of being a ghost. He barrels through the apartment’s front door almost feeling out of breath except for the fact he’s not because he definitely isn’t breathing.

The first thing he notices is that the lights are on. Often the apartment stays dark except for the times Shane accidentally manages to turn them on and off, but as the sky begins to darken outside the apartment is lit warmly. There’s a worn beige loveseat set up in the lounge facing a decent sized TV. Boxes and books and keepsakes are scattered across the floors and shelves and Shane feels something akin to excitement crackle along his spine. There’s music streaming from a small portable speaker on the breakfast bar, he doesn’t recognise the song, but he thinks it might be a new favourite. For the first time in months the place is full of noise and light and _life_ again and Shane didn’t realise how good it’d feel to see the place transformed. It feels like new life has been breathed into the place. His home has seemed so devoid of life since he died, and he guesses it kind of was.

Being surrounded by obvious signs of life is almost comforting and as Ryan appears in the doorway, hands on his hips as he surveys what’s left to unpack with a satisfied smile he thinks he could get used to his new roommate. “Welcome home, buddy.” He says cheerfully and almost sinks through the floor when Ryan snaps his head up to look in his direction, slightly fearful as his eyes scan the small space. “Hello?” He says, voice strong but cautious.

“Hi?” Shane replies hesitantly, waving his arms in an attempt to get his attention but it elicits no further response and Shane tries not to let the disappointment eat away at him. Ryan simply shakes his head and turns toward one of the boxes stacked in front of the TV. It could’ve been a coincidence but if Allison can hear him, see him, then surely someone else might be able to? For once he wishes he really did have some kind of how to guide for afterliving. Realising he’ll just have to keep trying he resigns himself to yet more trial and error yodelling. If it were possible to die twice he realises that getting Ryan Bergara to notice him might just be the death of him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments have bought me so much joy I confused emotion for a headcold bless you  
> I'm @mercury-skies over on the hellsite if it interests anyone.  
> Who's ready for some shenanigans like, keys being moved and lights turning on and doors closing? Spooky stuff, right?


	4. Inspectre Gadget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck the spirit box.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a practice in avoiding the wheeze addage and disappointing folk with my idea of spooky shenanigans.
> 
> Thank you again for your comments. I've had a rough time lately and they make me feel some kinda way pals.

Shane is being punished. He’s sure of it. The pain it’s causing him is quite honestly tearing him up inside. Ryan Bergara is a staunch believer in the supernatural and Shane is the ghost of a former paranormal skeptic who has yet to figure out how to pick up a pen in his new form. The universe is mocking him. Not only has the universe, or God, or _whatever the fuck_ made him a ghost, but they’ve also made him a pretty piss poor one. He’s also been given a living roommate who hosts a goddamn show about all sorts of spooky entities, some of which Shane can’t be sure don’t exist since his current existence blew his whole ‘ghosts are bullshit’ belief out of the water. The upside to this cosmic joke is that Ryan’s show is funny, and insightful and even if, alive, Shane would’ve lost his mind at some of the theories he postulates he has an energy about him that makes you glad you’re along for the ride even though instinct screams he wants to fight him every step of the way. Ryan’s show makes him a little more hopeful that eventually he’ll notice his existence. If Ryan thinks the hoot of an owl or the happenstance of a ball landing under graffiti of his (very common) name is an attempt at spiritual contact, then he can scrawl a message on a bathroom mirror and get him to acknowledge his presence.

Here he is, spending hours a day attempting to pick up a ballpoint pen to what? Write the guy a letter? An essay? A sonnet detailing why no ghost in their right mind would use the spirit box Ryan it’s loud and annoying and almost half the dead folk you supposedly talk to don’t know what the radio is? Attempting to manipulate condensation is probably easier in theory he ponders as the sun creeps into the lounge, the dawn of a new day in the Madej/Bergara household.

If he’s being honest with himself, the bathroom mirror schtick is textbook, it's a go to move and he’s only a little bit ashamed of himself for not thinking of it sooner. Only a little because the bathroom freaks him out and he really _really_ prefers to avoid it. It’s easy to avoid it, he no longer needs to pee or shower so there’s no real need for him to ever go near it. It has an aura though, he doesn’t know if he’s an aura guy now but there’s an energy about it that just never seems to dissipate. Logically he knows it’s because he died there but it doesn’t explain the complete sense of fear he feels when he even sees Ryan so much as step toward it. Such a complete sense of anxiety had overwhelmed him when Ryan had come to view the place that he’d accidentally blown the light and plunged him into darkness. The bathroom is the closest thing he knows to a grave, so it makes sense it weirds him out.

It also occurs to him that in order to write something on the bathroom mirror he’ll have to be inside the bathroom after or during Ryan is in there to shower and that’s kind of really fucking creepy. Of course, at first, he wouldn’t know and that somehow makes it worse because the whole point is so that Ryan _knows_. Call a guy a coward but Shane is not keen on having Ryan’s first impression of his ghostly roommate be that of a paranormal peeping tom.

It’s early on a Tuesday morning when he finally thinks to hell with it and steps through the bathroom door. It seems he’s chosen an acceptable moment in that when he briefly allows himself to glance in Ryan’s direction he safely has a towel wrapped around his waist. He’s watched Ryan for long enough to know he’s a forgiving guy, as level-headed as a guy that thinks aliens are a valid explanation of almost every unsolved incident can be, so he’s pretty sure he’s not on track to immediate exorcism here.

 

_Hey_

_please don’t freak out :)_

 

It’s not his best penmanship but it’s there and legible, albeit a little small as it didn’t occur to him to shorten anything or keep it concise with a simple _Hi_. He’s nervous and he feels his chest constrict painfully when Ryan turns and freezes, wide eyes taking in the words in front of him. He’s expecting anything from screaming and fainting to complete denial so when Ryan’s face lights up in a manic combination of fear and pure fucking delight Shane’s pretty sure he can feel his heart failing, again.

“I fucking knew it!” He cries and Shane doubles over in laughter and predictably the lights start to flicker. Ryan quickly throws open the bathroom door, eyes darting from the lights to the mirror and back. He careens backward through the doorway slipping and stumbling as he races into the bedroom. Loud cursing and some rummaging sounds from beyond the door. The bedroom is another no-go area, it’s too private and even though he’s dead Shane’s moral compass didn’t die with him and he refuses to breach that boundary. Instead of following, Shane makes his way into the lounge and sure enough after more frantic muttering and a lot of slamming of doors Ryan comes barrelling into the room, so many trinkets and contraptions hanging from his arms that he looks like a jumped-up Inspector Gadget. He dumps everything on the coffee table before setting up a set of motion sensors, one in the kitchen, one in the bathroom and one in the hall leading to the lounge. Shane walks in front of them all and nothing happens and the complete redundancy of them sets him off again, gasping for breath as the lights go haywire. Not even the jarring noise of the fucking spirit box bursting to life can stop him from laughing and he sets himself down on the couch next to Ryan, watching with glee as he alternates between staring at it and letting his gaze flit about the room.

Although with every move he makes he’s proving his past self wrong, there’s just something about setting Ryan Bergara’s nerves jangling that makes him want to keep doing it forever. “Is there anybody here with me?” He can barely hear him over the cacophony of radio signals bombarding them from the ridiculous device but Shane humours him and concentrates on it, lets the noise skip through his mind until he finds the sounds closest to what he wants.

 

_Yes_

 

“Yes? Oh my God!” Ryan gasps, shooting out of his seat. Shane rolls his eyes at him. “My name’s Ryan. Can you say my name?” He asks and the whole concept of repeating things for Ryan’s benefit is slightly humiliating, so he decides to step it up.

_Ry- an Ber- gara._

The spirit box is finicky and utilising the radio frequencies is imprecise, causing the words to sound slightly garbled and Shane hates doing it, feeling as though the sounds are filling up his head. Ryan clearly gets somewhat of a kick out of it as his eyes gleam with joy, yet his entire body is shaking and ashen. Shane starts to genuinely fear for the guy’s well-being. The spirit box is giving Shane the closest thing to a headache he’s experienced since dying.

_Stop._

The spirit box screeches almost unbidden and Ryan looks at it in confusion. “Stop? Stop what? Speaking?” He asks not even waiting for a reply between each question. Shane doesn’t want to stop talking, he just wants to stop Ryan from completely losing his mind. He also wouldn’t mind if they stopped using the spirit box so that Shane can salvage what is left of his.

 _Fr- eak... Out_.

“Yeah. Oh! Like on the mirror.” He says sounding calmer already with the reminder that the entity in his apartment probably isn’t out to hurt him if it’s trying to tell him to chill. Shane just laughs, the lights flickering once again and weirdly Ryan is smiling. The spirit box continues to blare away, this time picking up on nothing, but the static is so loud Shane nearly doesn’t hear him when he asks, “Are you laughing?” looking completely overwhelmed. How in the world Ryan knows is beyond Shane but it has him pushing past what little hesitance he still has about the whole ‘manipulating the physical world’ thing.

He turns off the damn spirit box. Prods the little thing as hard as he can until it clicks off and the room falls into blessed silence. “That’s better.” He sighs, intending to only be heard by himself. Ryan’s gaping mouth and dazed looking stare in his general direction tells a different story and he can see a creeping fear start crawling through his body, he can see it in the clench of his fists and the way his shoulders draw up and tense. “Hey.” He says trying to speak softly. “Honestly please don’t freak out. I can barely pick up a pen at the moment I’m not gonna hurt you.” Ryan nods seemingly taking his word for it and he starts to relax a little. “I thought that was strange.” He muses “I kept finding them under the furniture.”

“Any sane person wouldn’t have, they would’ve thought they’d just rolled there.” Shane replies with a laugh because that’s why he’d nudged them there after his multiple failed attempts, a perfectly plausible resting place for lost stationery. Ryan’s eyes flick up to the light and back to Shane’s corner of the couch. “That’s you, isn’t it?” He says nodding toward a lamp. He looks less like a startled deer and more a slightly nervous lizard. “That’s all me, baby! I can’t help it, you’re such an idiot I just can’t stop myself from laughing at you.”

“Oh boy I can’t believe I was actually scared of you for a few weeks there.” Ryan replies, laughter leaving him like he’s struggling for breath. He slumps back onto the couch and Shane has to stop himself from flinching as Ryan’s hand falls through his side. Shane moves to the armchair. “Up until about five minutes ago I was concerned you were about to follow in my footsteps and meet an early grave.” Ryan grimaces at that but shrugs, the closest thing to Ryan conceding he feels he’s probably ever gonna get. “Okay yeah I was about one violent fart away from shitting myself for a second there dude oh my God!” Laughter abounds, and Shane is pretty sure he’s gonna be the cause of one or two power outages if they keep this up. Exhaustion is starting to close in though and Shane is sure that pretty soon he won’t be able to anyway. “Okay buddy,” he says “resting in peace is hard work so I’m gonna wrap this up for now. You get one last question.”

Ryan seems to ponder his choice of question carefully leaving Shane hovering in a state of tired exasperation that he just knows is going to become his new normal. “What’s your name?” He asks and the simplicity of it surprises him. No ‘how did you die?’ or ‘what’s it like to die?’ The normalcy of the question shakes him, an acknowledgement of his humanity that for some reason means so much more coming from Ryan. “Shane.” He says on an exhale. “Shane Madej.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not getting into why Ryan just dropped everything on a week day morning to talk to his dead roommate. Apparently I don't understand the concept of employment and that you actually have to turn up at your work place at a designated time.
> 
> Your comments nurture the husk in which my heart once dwelt, thank you!


	5. The Dear Departed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you do when your ghost roommate won't tell you shit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy! Apologies for the lateness of this chapter, I had a super shitty ride of a week! Your comments have really kept me going so thank you so much and please don't hesitate to keep them coming, replying to them really makes my day.

As much as he sort of hates to admit it, Ryan likes Shane. When shit had started to get weird he was, understandably, terrified. The thought that he was being haunted, that something had maybe followed him back from filming Unsolved set him on edge and however intrigued and excited he was that his own apartment seemed to be housing a supernatural presence that didn’t mean he didn’t figuratively shit himself every time the lights flickered. Shane is... well Shane is a _presence_ alright. Shane who delights in changing the channel whenever Ryan is trying to watch a game just because he’s figured out how to. Shane who hides or helps find his keys depending on the mood he’s in. Shane who, once he finally figures out how to pick up a pen, draws unflattering caricatures of Ryan on the magnetic whiteboard on the fridge for him to find each morning. Shane, is infuriating and funny, as warm as he is sarcastic and Ryan as crazy and possibly awful as it sounds, is glad he’s still around.

He’s grown accustomed to Shane’s presence surprisingly quickly. He no longer flinches at the sound of his voice or at the sight of his invisible hand holding a pen. He starts to anticipate when Shane is trying to reach out to him, a subtle shift in the air, an inexplicable _feeling_ , a vibe if you will. He finds himself calling out to him like any regular roommate and he always feels disappointment sink cold and heavy in his stomach when Shane doesn’t or can’t reply. It’s still a struggle to communicate but Shane is improving, little by little and it’s embarrassing how excited he is each time he realises they’ve spoken for a little longer than the last time. Shane frequently reminds him it’s probably not normal to be as invested in conversation with his ghostly roommate as he clearly is, but the part of him that reminds him he may be losing his mind is effectively silenced by a larger part that just doesn’t care. There is something so easy about interacting with Shane, their exchanges have an ebb and flow that’s familiar, comforting almost.

Except sometimes it’s hard to ignore that they aren’t just two friends hanging out, watching movies with a beer or catching the game. He feels it keenly when he can hear Shane laugh to the left of him but when he looks over there’s nothing there, when he sees the lounge window open on its own but he can’t see the figure looking out of it, when the radio switches on by itself and there’s only the whisper of a dulcet voice quietly singing along. There is an intangibility to their relationship and Ryan can’t decide whether it’s because of Shane’s _intangibility_ or if it’s Shane himself, putting up barriers between them.

Sometimes Shane’s silences are more telling than any of his notes or utterances. There are questions he doesn’t answer, things he doesn’t say. Ryan likes to think he knows him, a lot more than you’d think you’d know someone after just a month of living with them. Ryan is sure Shane knows him just as well, can feel his eyes on him even though he can’t be sure of his gaze, when all else is still and quiet. Ryan knows Shane, but he knows very little about Shane’s life. “I’m dead.” Shane replies dryly one day when Ryan asks him about it. “It doesn’t matter now.” It’s all he says on the subject and it fills Ryan with a sadness unlike anything he’s ever known, crushing and inescapable.

It bothers him so much that he decides to do something about it, at the risk of making Shane mad and himself look entirely so. He asks around.

The landlord doesn’t have much to say but he looks so obviously shifty that he clearly knows more than he’s letting on. The guy just says that Shane was the previous tenant that had moved out to Illinois. Ryan suspects the whole moving out thing to maybe be a lie based on the fact that Shane is stuck in his apartment in L.A but he can’t be sure. Based on most of the people he asks at the building he can’t be sure of much more than he knows already. The young family remember him as tall and kind, holding the door for Casey when she was busy juggling groceries and a toddler. She smiles sadly as she tells him about the funny faces he’d pull to the delight of her two year old as he helped them in the door on his way out. A bittersweet warmth floods his chest hearing such a story and he aches to know more.

Ryan is quick to find that most of those he speaks to about Shane also know very little, and he grows more and more frustrated with every sad smile that greets him. They all remember him as tall, his hair never looking the same twice and with a smile that somehow managed to look both innocent and mischievous at the same time, something Ryan believes to be true just by talking to Shane. It makes him wish he knew what Shane looks like but no-one seems to have a picture and their descriptions are vague at best.

The lack of information is somewhat disheartening but Ryan feels privileged to have been able to hear their stories, though short and seemingly insignificant they spoke volumes. He makes his way back to the apartment unsatisfied but content for now. He doesn’t know how long Shane will be sticking around, if he could disappear at any time. Although he wants to know more about the guy he is conscious of knowing too much and risking being devastated when Shane finally moves on. It would be selfish to wish for anything else, the ideal scenario is impossible and if anyone deserves to be at peace it’s probably Shane. Life with Shane can’t exactly be described as peaceful but as Ryan toes off his shoes by the door there’s no sign of him, the only indication he’s been up to anything is a picture of an anatomically incorrect dick drawn on the whiteboard that he doesn’t remember seeing that morning or putting there himself. He shrugs out of his jacket and hauls off his bag ready to just throw himself on the couch and stay there for the foreseeable future. He wonders idly where Shane is and what exactly had compelled him to draw the monstrosity currently emblazoned on his fridge when a knock at the door startles him.

He hesitates and half expects Shane’s voice to follow. It doesn’t and Ryan realises Shane has never knocked to signify his presence, prefering to turn up unannounced and scare Ryan shitless. With a groan he heaves himself up from the couch and shuffles toward the door. At his threshold is an old lady, short and slim but far from fragile. “Hello Ryan!” She says looking almost excited. “We haven’t met. My name’s Allison McGowan.” She holds out a hand to shake, her grip firm and sure. Her eyes are a bright periwinkle blue, sharp and knowing in a way that is both reassuring and terrifying. “Nice to meet you.” He says lamely and Allison smiles.

“So I hear you’ve been asking about my boy.”

 

* * *

 

Allie is a fucking delight is the conclusion Ryan comes to nestled comfortably in an overstuffed armchair in her cosy apartment. It resides on the floor above, a homely affair the apartment somehow looks completely different to his own despite it having exactly the same layout. He stares pensively into his coffee as a fluffy, ginger cat stalks menacingly around the small side table, eyeing his every move suspiciously as his owner rifles through her bookshelves, searching for something. A quiet noise of triumph makes him look up. Allie makes her way toward the couch adjacent to him, something clutched between her fingers almost reverently. Silently and with a solemn smile she hands it to him. He quickly deposits his cup on the rickerty side table and takes what he now sees to be photographs carefully from her hands, as if handling a precious treasure.

The first picture is of Allie, beatific in a yellow sundress smiling up at a guy wearing glasses. Her hands cup his face as he holds onto her waist, hunching over slightly so she can reach him. They seem to be at some kind of party, the sun shining as bright as their smiles. They’re laughing, the man’s eyes crinkled into crescent moons from how big his grin is. There is one word that chimes in his mind like a church bell when he looks at them. Alive.

“That’s Shane.” She says quietly, leaning over to point at the man in the photo. “Handsome, right?” Her eyes are bright with unshed tears and Ryan swallows hard. He hadn’t anticipated this. He’s sitting in Allie’s home talking to her about Shane who she’d known and from the looks of it known well. To be confronted by her loss is like a punch in the gut. He sucks in a breath and studies him closer. He nods. Shane is handsome, all warm eyes and a strong jaw. His position exudes his humour, his smile crooked, goofy and alight with a joy that seems to give him so much energy. “Yeah.” He manages to breathe out in reply, the air suddenly heavy, the apartment almost too quiet.

“This was taken at my 75th birthday party. He left work early to help me with it, he was sweet that way.” She adds eyes tracing their frozen forms and Ryan musters the nerve to reply.

“What did he do?”

“Something in media.” She replies waving a hand. “We never spoke much about it but it’d have him pulling long hours sometimes. Barely any sleep and he still made it to an old lady’s birthday party, he could be a pest but he had a heart of gold.” Ryan chuckles at that thinking it as accurate a description as any.

Allie weaves stories of Shane as someone who had his faults but at all times was trying his best even when things were bleak. She regales him with how smart Shane was, quick witted but rarely cruel. He was a little unorthodox, a loping and loveable eccentric that could also be timid and reclusive, quiet and closed off from himself and the world. She remembers him as funny, endlessly entertained by how they could exchange good-natured insults, how he was a kindred spirit, how he was like a son to her.

He doesn’t tell her that Shane’s still with them. He can’t. He doesn’t want to risk hurting her, even if she were to believe him, there was no way of knowing whether Shane would be able to communicate with her, whether the idea would comfort her or make her grief worse. Selfishly, he doesn’t want to lose his one window that lets him see beyond Shane the ghost and see more of Shane himself, a regular guy. He sits in relative silence, listening to Allie and wondering how he can face Shane knowing all that he is and all that he has lost.

Eventually Allie prompts him to look at the second photo an old fashioned polaroid and he feels his breath stutter in his chest. Allie smirks. “Told you he was handsome.” She says, eyes bright with a now familiar mischievousness. It’s a photo Allie obviously treasures and Ryan can see why. Shane is smiling a small fond smile directly at the camera, rumpled shirt undone at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows as his forearms rest against the breakfast bar in his apartment. He looks tired in a way that makes him look softer at the edges, disheveled but looking relaxed, content. His hair is a mess, strands of it falling endearingly onto his forehead, the rest falling every which way conceivable. The fading evening light casts half of him in shadow but the light and warmth of brown eyes still strikes him strongly even in a slightly grainy photo. “I took that after bringing him some soup.” She says shaking her head, her smile amused. “He could cook just fine but time often got away from him. I’d had enough of him trying to substitute popcorn for a proper meal. He did alright though, I did it more to let him know I cared than to feed him, he would forget sometimes.”

Ryan wants to ask so badly and even though he’s often tactless he resists asking the question that has plagued him ever since he started communicating with Shane. _How did he die?_ He wants to ask. _What happened to him?_

 _It’s unfair_ , he thinks as something akin to anger bubbles inside of him, that they had to meet like this instead of when Shane was alive and the fact that those questions may have to remain unanswered only frustrates him further. He misses him in that moment, the Shane he knows and the Shane he could’ve known.

Talk turns away from the topic of Shane eventually, the air a little easier to breathe as he chats with Allie. She is officially the coolest 78 year-old Ryan has ever met and his favourite neighbour by far, maybe even favourite person. When he says goodnight to her it’s with a warm all encompassing hug that makes him miss home and he knows he’ll be visiting her again soon when she pats his cheek and smiles that bright knowing smile. “Here.” She says, pressing the photo of Shane into his hand. He tries to protest, unworthy of the memory of a man that meant so much to her, but she is absolute. “It might be a little weird but I’d like you to have it. Keep his memory alive.” For a brief moment Ryan thinks about his apartment and the scattered pens, the flickering lights and the dick on his fridge and thinks in a way Shane is doing a pretty decent job of that himself.

“I will. Thank you.” He says, bidding her a good night and making his way toward the elevator and back to the apartment. He shuffles through the door once more, and resumes his position face down on the couch, photograph stowed safely in his pocket. He feels something bounce off his ass and cracks open one eye just in time to see a red ballpoint pen roll underneath the couch. “Hi Shane.” He says with a smile, voice muffled by the cushions.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me folks!  
> Talk to me over on [tumblr](http://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/) or you can threaten to sue me like megan whatever floats your boats. I also have a discord if people do that I'm not even fucking sure what it is or how to work it and i am scared to ask.  
> Thank you again for your comments. You're too kind.


	6. Transparent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan just really wants to see his buddy laugh okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is inspired by two songs, Silhouette by Aquilo and Ghosts by PVRIS so check them out if you're interested! Thank you for putting up with me this far!

Allie is the epitome of a meddling old woman and Shane would be angry if a) she wasn’t the sweetest old lady on the planet and b) if it wasn’t for the fact he’s literally unable to feel anything stronger than mild irritation when it comes to her. Listening to her talk about him with Ryan is uncomfortable to say the least, too intimate an experience to be privy to their feelings for him unbeknownst to at least one of them. Of course Allie knows he’s there, he’s transparent in more ways than one, especially when it comes to Ryan and he’d obviously followed him while he played detective. Listening to his neighbours’ stories was a trip and a half and he sort of hated every second of it. He feels as though it’s too little too late, their kind words have no impact now he’s no longer alive and although it's still somewhat heartwarming to know they’d thought highly of him, it ultimately means nothing now. He feels guilty for their sad smiles, the way Ryan’s shoulders drop when they’re unable to provide him with further details but the truth remains that most of them hadn’t really been detail orientated when it came to him.

Shane just can’t fathom why Ryan would go to such lengths to learn more about him. Sure, Shane hasn’t been the most forthcoming but why would he need to be? Shane is just the bump in the night, a phantom, so far as he’s concerned there’s nothing to know, the past is no longer relevant and especially not to someone like Ryan. Naturally, Allie doesn’t seem to agree with him. He follows them both up to her apartment reluctantly, thinking he can at least attempt to stop the conversation from veering into dangerous territory. It’s to no avail because Allie brings out the pictures and cries so Shane cries and Ryan is none the wiser, just transfixed by the photographs in front of him.

This is why he’s been avoiding talking about, well anything remotely related to himself to be honest. It’s just a reminder of everything he has lost, the devastation he has left behind. As Allie plays his own personal hype man, throwing smirks in his direction every time she’s sure Ryan isn’t paying attention, guilt grips him and he aches to hug her. He can see that there are so many questions that Ryan wants to ask but he holds his tongue, something he didn’t realise the guy was capable of. When Ryan finally leaves Shane is surprised when Allie hands over the photograph of him. She’s right, it’s more than a little weird, it’s a lot weird but it doesn’t seem to deter Ryan, a weird dude in his own right who simply takes it gratefully. As Ryan makes his way back toward his apartment Shane mouths an ‘I love you’ at Allie who winks before she closes the door.

 

* * *

 

Ryan becomes somewhat obsessed with the photo and it’s both creepy and flattering. Shane manages to brush it off until Ryan starts pestering him about being able to see him. He keeps his answers as noncommittal as possible but Ryan’s persistence is both frustrating and confusing. He has no idea why Ryan can’t see him yet Allie can, but he suspects it might have something to do with his reluctance to invade Ryan’s space. The thought of appearing in front of Ryan fills him with anxiety and a sense of inadequacy, much more comfortable with the notion that this way he can leave Ryan with the image of him alive and somewhat put together, rather than how wretched he must look in his current state.

In addition to not knowing why Ryan can’t see him Shane also has no idea why Ryan would want to in the first place. He now knows what he looks like and it’s nothing special, his vehemency unnerves him, making him wary and suspicious. It’s no secret by now what Ryan does for a living. Shane has observed enough of Unsolved over Ryan’s shoulder as he edits the odd episode that he knows Ryan is in the business of finding proof of the supernatural. He doesn’t think he’s the kind of guy to exploit what they have, to exploit _him_ but when Ryan decides to traipse around the apartment, camera in hand in an attempt to catch him on film the accusation bursts forth.

“Enough Ry! C’mon stop. You won’t find any of your ‘evidence’ here.” He says, annoyance colouring his words. Ryan freezes, a look of complete disbelief marring his features and Shane immediately regrets his words but he doesn’t attempt to take them back, the doubt still lingering. Ryan drops the camera onto the breakfast bar so sharply it makes Shane flinch. “Fuck you dude.” Ryan says, voice low. “Do you honestly think that’s why I’m doing this?” He asks and Shane shrugs and then realises Ryan can’t see him.

“No - I don’t know.” Shane drags a hand over his face, tired and frustrated.

“You honestly think I’m the kind of guy that would just whore out his ghost roommate on the internet for views? Fuck that man.” His voice is inching louder and Shane can’t comprehend how they got here. “I don’t know Ryan okay? You’re just so- and the _camera_...” Shane replies, raising his voice to match Ryan and God this is such a mess. The worst thing is that he doesn’t think Ryan is that kind of guy but even if that’s true it leaves him none the wiser.

“You don’t think I might just wanna be able to see my friend when I’m talking to him?” Ryan says with a bitter laugh. “That I might wanna see him smile when he laughs. I’ve heard so many stories-” Shane hears a ringing in his ears at Ryan’s words, complete disbelief clouding his mind to the point where it becomes an overwhelming mantra of _deny, deny, deny_. “C’mon, friend? _Ryan._ ” He says mockingly. _Stop_ , he thinks, _just stop talking just shut up_. He doesn’t though and the words stutter from him, cold and callous. “You really do need to get out more. You’re wasting your time.”

“Wasting my time?” Ryan replies bitterly and suddenly he’s a flurry of movement, shoulders stiff as he shrugs into a jacket and jams his feet into a pair of shoes by the door.

He is wasting his time, Shane knows this, he’s been monopolising too much of it as it is and this new desire to see him is proof of that. He’s wasting his time on a dead guy that can’t be anything for him no matter how much he wants to be. He wants... _Fuck_.

“Where’re you going Ry?” He says.

“To waste my time with _real_ friends.” Ryan replies and the words sting. He slams the door and the ringing in his ears just gets louder.

The guilt and regret is immediate but Shane finds himself unable to move until he’s sure Ryan has gone further than he can follow. There is no way to fix this trainwreck without giving Ryan what he wants the little shit. So long as he’s trapped on this earth he’ll never truly be able to deny Ryan anything.

 

* * *

 

He’s unsure how long he’s been standing by the living room window but he assumes it’s probably been a while. The problem with attempting to be seen is that you have no way to measure success without the presence of someone to be seen by. Instead he’s having to rely on _feelings_ , something he’s always felt a disconnect from making his task that much harder. He thinks about being visible, solid, tries to imagine what he would look like right now from the perspective of another person. He feels ridiculous, trying to sense some invisible force he can weave himself with, like a building material but anything he manages to latch onto is faint and tenuous at best. The longer he spends trying to focus the more exhausted and hopeless he feels.

The telltale scrape of a drunk person trying to fit his key in the lock sounds from the front door and Shane holds his breath. After the third attempt the door swings open violently and Ryan all but falls into the apartment slamming the door behind him. He shrugs awkwardly out of his jacket, discarding it carelessly on the back of the couch as he tries to take off his shoes at the same time. He huffs in annoyance at his lack of balance. Shane laughs and Ryan snaps his head up so fast it makes him wince. Ryan freezes, halfway between him and the door, hazy eyes wide and awed and Shane realises Ryan is looking right at him.

“Hey” he says breathlessly.

“Hi.”

“God you’re tall.” Ryan manages to choke out as he shuffles closer.

“And you’re perfectly snack sized.”

“Did you just-” Ryan snorts “did you just call me a snack?” and Shane didn’t but the cover of night and how clearly drunk Ryan is makes him brave.

“If the shoe fits...” He says with a wink and he’s pretty sure Ryan can’t see enough of him to see it but it all has the desired effect. He hits the jackpot when Ryan blushes, laughing loudly. Shane accidentally turns the light on like he’s prone to and Ryan grumbles at him. “Stop!” he exclaims with a laugh, “Can’t see you with the light on. Turn it off.”

“Ouch I’ve heard that before.”

“Shut the fuck up, Shane. I’m trying to get a look at you, it's the complete opposite.” Ryan squints into the half light coming from the window and takes a tentative step toward him. Shane tries to stay completely still, letting Ryan look at whatever he can see. “What can you see?” he asks in a whisper. “You.” Ryan says, voice slurred and breathless. Shane rolls his eyes.

“Again with the eye rolling!” Ryan yells and Shane’s laugh is sudden and loud and the lights flick on again. “Shane-” Ryan practically whines, and it makes his head spin. “I know I know I can’t help it.” He says through a chuckle but switches the light off again nevertheless.

“I can’t see any features. Just an outline, a shadow.” Ryan says quietly and his fingers twitch at his sides.

“I’ll work on it.” Is all Shane says, refusing to make any promises he can’t keep.

“Thank you.” He replies with a soft smile, like Shane’s just given him a gift.

“I’m sorry.” They say practically at the same time and breathless laughter wheezes out of them.

“I know, I get it.” Ryan says, blinking slowly. They descend into silence, and Shane just lets Ryan peer at him like if he stares hard enough more of him will be revealed. He feels exposed, vulnerable, and even though Ryan can’t see his eyes the gaze still feels weirdly intimate.

“Get some rest.” Shane whispers after a while. “You’re gonna have a killer hangover in the morning.” Ryan looks hesitant, like now that he can sort of see him he never wants to look away. “I’ll be here. Same as always.”

“Yeah.” Ryan breathes, nodding like he’s trying to convince himself. “Good night Shane.”

“Sweet dreams Ry.” He says and watches as Ryan stumbles his way through the apartment toward the bedroom.

 

* * *

 

The next morning dawns, bright and warm and Shane wants to say that Ryan looks like death warmed up but considers it a little inappropriate. Shane has spent the whole night attempting to manipulate more and more energy and he’s pretty pissed that even dead he’s experiencing something akin to sleep deprivation. He’s filled the small whiteboard with doodles and has just started to see if he can mess with the coffee machine in the kitchen when Ryan emerges from his bedroom, bleary eyed and groaning pitifully. “Good morning.” He yawns, hand rasping against the light stubble at his jaw. He drops his head onto the breakfast bar and groans again. “Morning, buddy.” Shane smiles. Ryan lifts his head slowly, a small smile lighting up his face until suddenly it drops.

Ryan’s shrill scream is both terrifying and hilarious. “What? _Jesus_ Ryan what the-” He lets go of the mug he’s been holding and it clatters jarringly onto the worktop, chipping it. “I can see you!” Ryan says, wincing at the volume of his own voice. Excitement is thrumming through him and it’s infectious. “What? Like last night?”

“No! I can see your dumb face!” Ryan says grinning from ear to ear as he quickly rounds the breakfast bar to stand directly in front of him.

He sees Ryan clench and unclench his fists at his sides, as if he wants to reach out in his excitement and Shane can imagine a warm hand on his forearm or god forbid a fucking hug and feels his heart break a little at the fact he’s as solid as he’s ever been since dying but that small touch is still impossible. He’s thought he’d felt isolated while he was alive but this is a whole other level, to be deprived of that sensation is like being lead to water in the desert but not being allowed to drink. A complete denial of life. Shane doesn’t know what he’d expected but of course he wouldn’t be able to reach out like that. He isn’t alive, he’s no longer a part of the physical world, the world Ryan still lives in.

“No don’t-“ Ryan stutters out looking panicked. He realises his train of thought must’ve shifted his focus and he’s fading. “Don’t go” He says and the look of desperation in his eyes has Shane scrambling to pull the thread he’d been following to manipulate the mug and coffee machine but he senses it’s long since slipped out of his grasp. “I’m here.” He says and he knows that Ryan can no longer see him when his gaze doesn’t meet his again. “Where?” He says casting his eyes around wildly like Shane has simply aparated to a different spot. He chuckles quietly, voice soft with fondness “Still right in front of you buddy you just can’t see me.” He reaches out now, seemingly into nothing but Shane watches, reaches out so that Ryan’s hand hovers above his, palm to palm. “Why can’t I see you? Do you not want me to?” He says confused, a flash of hurt in his eyes and Shane yearns to soothe it. “I- not exactly.” Shane sighs “I didn’t mean to um appear? If you know what I mean, it was kinda a side effect I guess of me trying to use so much energy. I’m still getting used to it, it takes a lot of focus and I just lost it I’m sorry.” Ryan nods and stays silent. Shane hates the silence, especially when Ryan’s laugh is so bright. “Anyway who’d wanna look at this mug? I’m dead, not exactly looking my best.” Ryan breathes out a laugh cutting the tension but when he looks up there’s sadness in his eyes despite the faint blush Shane can see beginning at the tips of his ears. “Don’t say that,” he says vehemently and then continues slightly more hesitant, “you’re um- a good looking guy.” There is a shocked silence before Shane’s nervous laughter echoes around the apartment, the kitchen light flickers.

“You do really need to get out more if you think your dead roommate is anything close to good looking.” He wheezes in disbelief.

“I’m serious!” Ryan says indignant.

“Thank you.” Shane says and hopes his sincerity can be heard loud and clear in his voice. “You’re ya know- handsome?” Ryan laughs at that, bright and unrestrained and it makes something light fill Shane’s chest and suddenly he’s laughing too and every light in the apartment is turning on and off in quick succession and Ryan just looks so fucking delighted by it all. Eventually they simmer down and Ryan turns back toward Shane’s general vicinity and yawns. “You didn’t sound too sure about that buddy.” He teases and Shane rolls his eyes and then makes a point of telling Ryan he’d just rolled his eyes and Ryan replies that somehow he could tell, can always tell, and they dive into banter about how now Ryan is just obviously fishing for compliments until Shane huffs out a giddy and disbelieving laugh and thinks _fuck it I’m dead. “_ You’re fucking adorable Ryan Bergara. You’re gonna make someone very happy someday.” His voice grows quiet his words losing their exasperated confidence as they leave him, syllable by syllable. Ryan looks like he wants to say something but Shane is drained, feeling as though he’s crossed too many lines someone like him isn’t supposed to in less than twelve hours. “You’re going to be late.” He says and watches as Ryan lets his gaze fall, no longer trying to meet eyes he can’t see.

Ryan curses under his breath and all but lunges for the mug and coffee machine, mumbling his thanks to Shane for managing to turn it on. The morning continues comfortably and it’s so domestic Shane forgets for a while that Ryan can no longer see him as he watches him practically chug his too hot coffee and ramble about what the day might hold for him. When Ryan finally makes his way out it’s with a yelled “see you later Shane!” that will be difficult to explain to any neighbours that may have overheard him. Shane’s day will continue much the same as it has every day since he died but with Allie and Ryan to haunt, he finds he doesn’t much mind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I physically can't make periods of angst last long because I am weak and it hurts what is left of my heart.  
> Thank you for reading and all your comments and the kudos. Hit me up on [tumblr](http://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/) i am cripplingly lonely and need friends pls


	7. Keeping Up Appearances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giving your best friend shit should always be top of your list of priorities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter weirdly makes me feel really sad and it's not even that angsty. Brief cameos by Jen (because who isn't in love with her c'mon folks) and Zack (who is also a babe). Thanks again for your continued support, you make writing a joy again!

The main downside to managing to convince Shane to _manifest_ as it were, is that it inevitably turns into Shane’s favourite thing to do in order to scare the shit out of him. The amount of glasses and plates he’s dropped is getting ridiculous and he can’t even demand compensation because ghosts don’t have jobs, or bank accounts. Shane does apologise everytime he has to sweep more broken pieces of crockery into the trash but he doesn’t look particularly remorseful, always leaning against the kitchen counter with that slightly crooked grin of his that makes Ryan’s face heat up with anger and maybe something else.

If he had the choice though between losing all his mugs and not seeing Shane at all, he’d dump all his dishes in the trash himself. Sure it’s disturbing to see Shane standing halfway through a door, almost each eye on either side of the wood or to see his torso floating around on the floor, his eight feet of leg unseen until he goes to pick up his mail and he can see them dangling through the ceiling of the lobby. His blood pressure is through the roof ever since he’s started seeing Shane hovering upside down in the darkness of the living room almost every time he wakes up in the middle of the night needing to use the bathroom. Ryan loves seeing Shane but he’s thankful that work offers him a little break from the realities of the supernatural.

“Woah there!” He hears clear as a bell to his left and he lets out an undignified screech, the mug he’d just picked out slipping from his fingers and shattering on the kitchen floor. Suddenly, he’s staring open mouthed at Shane, of all people to see in his fucking workplace kitchen. Shane who looks as surprised as Ryan does. “Uh-“ Jen’s head appears around the open door “you okay there Ryan?” Ryan whips his head round to look at her so fast a nerve in his neck twinges. “Yeah I’m fine. Just clumsy.” He says eyes wide and voice pitching up at the end as if in question. “Alright. Chill man.” She smiles. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She disappears again and Ryan is so thankful because it means he can glare at Shane undisturbed.

“Yeah Ryan-“ Shane wheezes, an infuriating smirk on his face that Ryan wishes he could just slap off. There is something so lovely about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners as he laughs, his mirth makes him light up, whole being slightly flickering, more and more opaque until he can see the colour of his irises. “What the actual fuck Shane?” He hisses out.

“I have no idea what just happened.” He says, arms raised in surrender and sounding considerably out of breath. “One minute I was hanging out-“

“By hanging out you mean-“

“Yes I was floating in the living room again it’s fun and I’m dead I get my kicks where I can since I kicked the bucket.” Ryan laughs at that, startled out of his annoyance by Shane’s uncanny ability to disarm him. “I was wondering what you were up to and boom. I’m here.” He shrugs, smiles like he’s not exactly put out by the sudden turn of events. Ryan just stares at him. His dead roommate is now spontaneously in his place of employment. “Oh my God. You’re- you’re _haunting_ me.” He sees on Shane’s face the exact moment he makes a decision that is ultimately going to make his life at least 70% more difficult. “Not actively. But Ryan! Now you’ve gone and given me ideas! How could you!” He’s grinning something mischievous and a little dark lighting in his eyes and it makes him shiver despite the grin spreading across his own face. Suddenly the kitchen door bursts open again accompanied by his colleagues’ chatter. “Could’ve sworn someone else was in here with you dude?” Zack says as he steps around Ryan, who since has bent to clear up the debris of his smashed mug. “Ahh no-“ Ryan laughs nervously “just me dude, deadlines you know, they’ll drive you crazy.” Zack laughs in agreement, snags something from the fridge and leaves with the others, patting him on the back with a “Don’t work too hard” on his way out.

“Great now my colleagues think I’m crazy!” Ryan exclaims, his voice hushed as he dumps the broken pieces of ceramic in the trash with a tad more force than necessary. “Well they’re not wrong.” Shane shoots back, insufferable. He fixes him with an unimpressed glare which Shane meets looking entirely unperturbed as his shiteating grin only grows. When Ryan turns to fix himself some coffee he decides to dramatically change his ‘annoy Ryan’ tactics prompting him to almost drop his cup again.

“He was checking you out by the way.” He says casually, eyes dancing between Ryan and the door.

“What!” Ryan yells before Shane shushes him, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. He can feel his face heat in embarrassment. “Shut the fuck up dude that’s not funny.”

“It’s true!” Shane exclaims throwing his arms up and letting them fall dramatically. “He did the little lean and everything.” He adds demonstrating by crossing his arms and looking Ryan up and down. Ryan feels heat rush through him from his toes all the way to the top of his head. _God_ he wants to hit him. He always knew a ghost would be the death of him, but in more of a scare him into a heart attack way instead of a ‘you’re so infuriating I think I’m gonna have an aneurysm’ way. “You’re full of shit!” He laughs swatting at him and inevitably hitting nothing, his hand falling through the air and through the visage of Shane’s arm. “I swear! People can’t see me but I can see them. I can be your wingman! Wing- wraith?”

“You’re dead and no one can see or hear you. You can’t be a wingman, your very existence automatically makes you the worst wingman ever.”

“First of all, ouch-"

“Second of all, what makes you think I’d even be into him?” Ryan interrupts and this gives Shane pause. He drops his gaze and shrugs, right hand coming up to fiddle with the fabric of his shirt sleeve. Ryan can no longer see the warm brown of his eyes, the colour seeming to leach out of him. “I dunno, he’s a handsome guy. You said he likes sports, you like sports.” Ryan frowns at his fresh mug of coffee.

“Oh yeah” he scoffs “we’re a match made in heaven.” He says sarcastically and turns back to face him, mug in hand. Shane just shrugs hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

He rolls his eyes. “C’mon.” He says, jerking his head in the direction of the door. He will live to regret letting the ghost of Shane Madej run amok at Buzzfeed.

 

* * *

 

Lo and behold an hour later and Ryan is going to lose his mind. From toying with various items of stationary so they appear to float and spin in thin air, to keeping up a quiet stream of commentary on his colleagues ranging from hilarious to ludicrous Ryan’s patience is running thin in what has become bring your ghoul friend to work day. All of it and Ryan can’t even react, certain his colleagues would notice and pack him off somewhere since he’s clearly lost his mind. After the 22nd time Ryan has to snatch a red pen from the air, he slams it back on the desk and practically leaps out of his chair, hissing at Shane to follow him back to the kitchen.

“Okay enough. I’m done you can stop now.” He says as he barrels into the thankfully empty kitchen, skin crackling with irritation. When he looks at Shane he sees surprise and the beginnings of guilt marr his features “I- sorry I guess I was being too distracting, I didn’t think-”

“Didn’t think to give me a break?” Ryan asks “God do you have to be so infuriating all the time?” He knows immediately he’s said the wrong thing as Shane freezes, fading fast again in a stark contrast to how he’d been only 10 minutes earlier, possibly the most vivid and animated Ryan had ever seen him. He regrets being the cause, thinking back to how happy and energetic Shane had seemed only moments ago but he’s stubborn and can’t find it within himself to take it back. He wants to return back to his desk, Shane by his side but he’s hit a sore spot this time and he knows it.

“I didn’t ask to be here Ryan. I have very little control. If you want me gone, if you don’t want me around all you have to do is say so. All you ever have to do is say so.”

“Then go.” Ryan grits out and Shane stares at him eyes hard and jaw clenched. A feeling, as if all the air is rapidly leaving the room surges through him and Shane is gone from in front of him. He stands there for a good few minutes, letting out a deep breath. “Shane?” He tries tentatively, softly, but there is no answer. He can feel the void, the space where Shane had existed and he knows he’s gone.

He curses under his breath. Every time they seem to get something right, the universe kicks them in the proverbial balls and they’re set back again. Whether it be circumstances or their pride the cosmos just keeps throwing them curve balls and both of them are not adept enough to hit them. When Ryan returns to his desk it’s too quiet, he shoves his headphones on and glares at his computer screen for the rest of the work day, stressed and tired and trying to figure out how to fix things with his ghoul friend.

 

* * *

 

When he returns to his apartment he still feels no trace of Shane, doesn’t sense the familiar energy he’s come to associate with Shane’s presence. He knows it’ll take more than turning him away to help him pass over so he knows he must be somewhere. The apartment feels empty without his presence though and Ryan is hit with the realisation that Shane really is like his roommate, his voice often filling the silence even when he can’t be seen, the evidence of his attempts to move things, write and draw littered around the rooms. His eyes fall to the small white board they keep on the coffee table now for when Shane can’t find the energy to use his voice. On it are little doodles, small caricatures of the both of them surrounded by an assortment of other drawings. They make him smile so much he can never bring himself to wipe it clean, always waiting for Shane to do it just so it’s never empty, the conversation always open, always flowing one day to the next.

Ryan has come to depend on his company, has become accustomed to seeing at the very least the vague shadow of him every morning before work and as much as he’s loathe to admit it he cares about the asshole, a lot. He’s not sure what it says about him, that his best friend is a ghost but Ryan would only have him one other way. Alive. That’s not possible however, even though his treacherous thoughts think about it often, his dreams betraying him by conjuring images of them side by side in bars, at work, sensations of holding his hand. The phantom of that touch when he wakes in the early hours haunts him more than any ghost ever could.

He’s drifted to the bookshelf during his reverie. He picks up the photo of Shane, forearms resting on the kitchen counter as he smiles at the person taking the picture. It feels like he could be smiling at him and something aches within him, so violent and gnawing that it stills his breath. If he’d been in the area sooner, if things had been different. Maybe they’d have met, maybe, if they’d been given the  _chance_.

There’s a knock at the door and he hesitates, half expecting Shane to phase through it but he doesn’t. With a sigh he mindlessly stuffs the photo into his wallet and makes his way toward the door.

“Hi Ryan!” Allie beams when he opens the door and she immediately gathers him into a hug.

“Hi Allie. What brings you here?”

“Shane.” She says simply. “He’s visiting with me right now and told me you were home.”

“He’s what now?” He asks, starting to panic a little. She gives him a look that tells him all he needs to know, her sharp eyes resolutely meeting his own. “It’s okay. I know.” Is all she says and Ryan nods. He wonders if Shane knows, if he’s known all along and just didn’t tell him. It seems like something Shane would do. He shifts his weight, swaying back and forth nervously. “Did he send you to meet me or-”

“Oh no I didn’t tell him, he’s sort of um you know the expression ‘the lights are on but nobody's home.’” Allie says brightly but there is something off about the way she smiles, a tightness lying at the edge of her eyes. “Oh.” Ryan says lamely, knowing that whatever that meant exactly it was Ryan’s fault. Allison smiles at him reassuringly, reaching out to squeeze his hand gently. “Come on up and we’ll talk. I have some chocolate, Shane’s favourite, it’ll annoy him something fierce.” She grins and although annoying Shane is not high on his list of priorities right now he loves that it’s high on Allison’s and falls a little further in love with her.

He’s quickly ushered into her apartment and immediately feels a comforting warmth and he knows it’s because Shane is here somewhere. Allison catches his eye and smiles knowingly like she can feel it too. She makes him coffee, just like the last time they’d talked and this time he takes a seat on the couch, his mug held safely in his lap. When Allie settles beside him she takes out a bar of dark chocolate and starts breaking pieces off and eating it exaggeratedly, looking quite frankly insane. After a few minutes she huffs and offers a piece to Ryan, he declines it.

“He’s here?” Ryan asks her, taking a sip of his slightly too hot coffee. “You’re sure?” Ryan glances around the apartment but Shane is nowhere to be seen. It’s not uncommon, Shane can still chose to go unseen and it’s often his default unless he’s distracted or has his guard down. Most of the time he makes a concerted effort to appear and can only manage it for an hour or two at most on a good day. “Sure as I can be with his kind” she says, “makes you feel like you’re seeing things doesn’t it?” She says knowingly and he’s thankful that this amazing old lady has near telepathic tendencies and he nods. “I mean I’ve been seeing things, out the corner of my eye, for a long time. But Shane is uh-"

“Shane is hard to miss.” She finishes for him and it feels as though she means in both the sense of his presence and his personality. He nods again, finding it hard to find the words despite finally being able to talk to another living soul that sees what he sees. He’s acutely aware that Shane is with them somewhere.

“Do you know- where is he?” He asks and Allison sighs. “He’s curled up in the chair. All 8 feet of him.”

“Why- I can’t see him.”

“He’s very faint. He’s told me about trying to manifest. I’ve been seeing his kind my whole life you might just need a little more practice.”

“He’s not- I can’t hear him either, is he okay?”

“He’s quiet. He’s been like this for a few hours. Just kinda checks out. He used to do it back then too.”

“Back then...” Ryan hears Shane’s voice soft and with an ethereal tinge to it but Shane nonetheless. “You make it sound as though I’m as old as you are.”

“You may as well be. I can hear those joints of yours from your afterlife.” Allie quips and Ryan smirks.

“Touché.” He says and it’s the first time Ryan has heard him concede and it makes sense it would be to Allison.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” She says and Shane snorts, voice sounding a little louder.

“In case you haven’t noticed I haven’t quite left it yet.” Ryan laughs and it seems to startle Shane as he makes a small sound of surprise like he hadn’t realised he was there. “Allie was it not enough to meddle in the lives of the living? Now you’re meddling in my afterlife, so much for resting in peace.” Both Allison and Ryan double over in laughter after that, the sounds echoing around the small apartment. Ryan gasps and Allison focuses on the armchair where Shane is now more visible. Laughter always seems to strengthen him and even though he is still mostly see through it’s enough. When Ryan stills Allison takes it as her cue to leave them to it and she takes her tea with her to her room, Archibald the cat following closely at her heels.

Shane has never looked so small as he does now, curled up in an armchair in a way that looks uncomfortable but probably isn’t considering Allison mentioned it was a position Shane frequented even when he was alive. “I’m sorry.” Ryan says and Shane sighs.

“It’s fine.” Shane says but it isn’t, Ryan is adamant something is so very wrong. “Hey ya know, I’d want me gone too.” He says with a shaky sounding laugh. He won’t meet Ryan’s eyes, constantly tugging on the sleeves of his shirt and clenching his fingers in the cuffs. “You’re a busy guy. Can’t have this ghost guy cramping your style, it’d really ruin a date, I’d totally kill the atmosphere with that whole dead vibe.” Shane talks, words tripping and stalling and Ryan has trouble processing it all so he latches on to the last thing Shane has said. “Dead vibe?”

“Yeah? I mean Allison says that she gets a vibe when I’m nearby.” Shane replies with a shrug.

“You mean when we sense your presence?” Ryan asks seriously.

“You do?” Shane says sounding surprised. “Sense my presence? Like- give you the heebie jeebies?” Ryan wheezes at that. Shane still talks about the paranormal aspects of his existence with a hint of disdain as if he can’t quite shake the skeptic in him, the complete disbelief. “Yeah but it’s something I’ve grown accustomed to over time. And no it’s not the heebie jeebies it’s-“ Shane looks at him expectantly, curious and Ryan is struck again by how intrigued by his whole ordeal he can be sometimes, despite his misgivings. “It’s a sort of stillness, calm. I’ll step into the apartment and it’s this sort of warm glow-y feeling that tingles if you’re nearby. It fizzles when you laugh.” He says the last bit quietly, softly like a confession.

Shane’s smile is beatific but he doesn’t become any more opaque like he usually does when he’s happy. Ryan chalks it up to a lack of energy. He looks delighted, soft around the edges in a way Ryan wants to treasure. “Liar.” Is what he says quietly, still smiling and Ryan splutters, indignant. “I am not! I wouldn’t joke about this.”

“I know,” Shane says laughing softly, his smile almost lazy as he seemingly snuggles further into the chair “I just like seeing you worked up.” He waves a hand languidly through the air, wiggling his fingers. “It fizzles.”

“It?” Ryan asks confused.

“Your energy. I’m picking up your vibe, baby! I’m tuned in, on the level. It’s how I knew you were home. Allison thinks I’ve just been able to pick it up over time and since I’m so accustomed to yours it’s what meant I could travel outside of the complex. So long as I’m wired in, where you go I can follow.” He explains. Shane must’ve gone to Allie to ask about it as soon as he’d found his way back.

“Woah that’s pretty cool.” Ryan mutters, still infinitely fascinated by everything Shane is.

“It still kinda feels like I’m gonna vomit the whole time I’m away from the apartment but it’s another poltergeist perk on top of the floating and walking through walls. I’m considering it a win.”

“A pretty good one at that.” Ryan smiles and steels himself before continuing “It’s good cause lord help me but I like having you around you great lummox.”

“Well that’s good cause I have no idea if, let alone when, you’ll be getting rid of me.”

“We’ll take it one day at a time.”

“One day at a time.”

They chat for a while longer until Ryan’s eyes start to close and Shane can barely understand him for how many times he’s been interrupted mid sentence by a yawn. Shane insists he go get some rest. “Are you coming?” He asks around another yawn where he stands at the threshold after saying his goodbyes to Allison. “Nah I’ll be down later. Any bumps in the night and it’s probably me. Or a burglar, make sure you lock the door. It’ll probably be me though.” That makes Ryan laugh, a breathless thing that makes his heart feel too big for his chest.

“Good night Shane” He says and savours the small smile that lights up Shane’s face with colour.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just hate it when get rudely teleported to buzzfeed cause you were wondering how you're buddy was doing whilst you were chilling upside down in your living room? Yeah me too.
> 
> Thanks again for all your kudos and comments and the few of you that have made your way to my tumblr, its multifandom af but i've heard from a few of you already and it makes my day. The wonders of the internet.
> 
> I'm thinking of writing a oneshot about Ghost!Shane's adventures with Spotify. Give me suggestions on what should be on Shane Madej's Death Day Party Playlist pls! You can hit me up on [tumblr](http://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/) or AliensProbably#6928 on discord that I will then be forced to learn how to use
> 
> Hope you're still enjoying A Ghoul's Guide because I'm having a blast!


	8. That way madness lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'No one wants to be screaming at a pitch only dogs can hear with their dick in their hand. Well maybe some people do but Ryan is not one of them.'_ \- Ryan Bergara, probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up my friends because this one's a bit of a tearjerker if I do say so myself. In all honesty this is a smidge personal and was a whole lot difficult to write. Please proceed with caution.
> 
>  **Trigger warnings:** Implied suicide and discussion of an overdose.  
>  **Please proceed with caution and heed these warnings.**
> 
> Obviously this is fiction and nothing in this story is intended as a reflection or commentary of their real life counterparts.
> 
> I always strive to write about these topics as sensitively as I can. If you're at all affected by anything discussed in this chapter please reach out to me or ideally a professional. I can provide hotlines and resources if needs be. Stay safe out there.

“Shane? What are you doing? It’s 3AM” Ryan’s tired voice sounds from the hallway. He is haloed by the amber light trickling down the hall from the bedroom beyond, soft and sleepy. Shane abruptly plummets to the floor only just stopping himself from sinking right through. He coughs and attempts to stand. Ryan raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “What are _you_ doing?” Shane says and it’s one of the least cutting comebacks he has ever uttered it can barely be considered as such. It’s just lame, he’s lame, Ryan’s lame, the apartment complex is lame. He may be losing his mind ever so slightly. He’s so tired, constantly navigating living as a ghost and navigating a half-life with Ryan takes its toll. Ryan looks how Shane feels, exhausted with dark shadows below his usually bright eyes. He shuffles awkwardly and folds his arms across his chest. “I can’t sleep.” He says avoiding Shane’s gaze. A comment about bedtime stories teters on the tip of his tongue but he doesn’t say it, granting Ryan one small mercy. “Me either.” He says instead, shoving his hands into his pockets. Ryan huffs out a laugh, barely more than an exhale as he sways on his feet. “Can’t or won’t?” He asks wryly considering he’s seen Shane practically dangling from the light fixtures every night this week. Shane shrugs “A bit of both, I can’t sleep in the traditional sense anymore.” Ryan screws his face up at that as if it’s one of the grossest things he’s ever heard and fails to notice the irony of such a face being pulled by the guy that doesn’t bat an eye as he recounts the details of some grisly murder. Shane would worry for his safety sometimes if he weren’t already dead.

“Would you-“ Ryan starts, glancing over at Shane. He makes a concerted effort to give him his undivided attention, his expression open, patient. “Would you maybe, keep me company, until I fall asleep?” He asks tentatively, looking away again. “Cause you know, you bore me.” A slow smile finds its way onto Shane’s face. “To death?” He remarks and Ryan scowls at him.

“You know what man? Forget it, it’s weird I’ll just count sheep or something.” He doesn’t know what possessed Ryan to even ask but he’s sure Ryan has been tossing and turning for hours and the fact Ryan thinks Shane’s presence will help him sleep has something warm blooming in his chest. Shane is laughing though and Ryan’s face is growing redder by the second even in the dim light. “Hey, no it’s-” Shane sucks in a deep breath finally getting a hold of himself “I can do that c’mon lead the way.”

Ryan nods, something akin to nervousness in his dark eyes as he turns and shuffles down the hall. Shane follows quietly, dread tying knots in his stomach. He stops in the doorway, eyes flicking nervously around the room as Ryan approaches the bed. It’s weird, it’s really weird but not for the reasons he’s sure Ryan thought it would be. It’s weird because of how much he finds himself wanting to be there. The room is warm, the light a dim but comforting yellow only just chasing the shadows away. The room isn’t messy but it’s lived in, mementos on the dresser and clothes folded haphazardly on the chair. A cap hangs from the shade of a lamp. It’s so Ryan and Shane is both glad for and regretting his decision to step foot inside.

“Shane?” Ryan says, voice soft from where he’s sat on the edge of the bed, covers pulled back. “This is weird isn’t it?” He asks again, running a hand through his hair, the exhaustion pulling at his features. “It’s weird but not just cause you’ve invited a ghost into your boudoir and I’m starting to reevaluate just _how much_ of a weirdo you are.” Shane quips making his way slowly to the other side of the bed.

“Hey! Says the guy that took a bite out of a pumpkin.” Ryan says indignantly but Shane just waves him off, still glancing around the room unwilling to let his gaze linger on one spot for too long. “It’s weird I haven’t been in here since-” He trails off, tentatively taking a seat on the bed and craning his neck to look at Ryan. He watches as the realisation slowly dawns on him but Ryan’s expression quickly becomes too much to bear. He swings his legs up onto the bed, propping himself up against the headboard in an attempt to avoid Ryan’s gaze.

“You haven’t been in here since you died?” Ryan asks quietly, shuffling under the sheets and rolling to face him, cheek squished into his pillow. Shane spares him a glance and smiles. “Once,” he says, voice matching Ryan’s in its softness “just after I came back.”

“Why didn’t you come back here before now?” Ryan asks curious.

“It just didn’t seem right. It was empty for a while and then it became your bedroom and a closed door is still a closed door even though I can just walk through them.”

“I appreciate your dedication to respecting my privacy even though you could literally be spying on me without my knowledge at any given moment.”

“I would never!” Shane feigns indignation, gasping dramatically. “Allie told you I had a heart of gold.”

“Aha! So you _were_ there the first time I went to speak to her.” Ryan says loudly, grinning at having caught Shane out. Shane just rolls his eyes. “Of course I was. She was having the time of her life.”

“She cares about you. So much.” Ryan says seriously, eyes never leaving Shane’s face. He has to shut his eyes tight to keep from crumbling. He shakes his head, feeling the familiar lump lodge itself in his throat. “I know. God I know I’m such an asshole.”

“Shane...” Ryan says distressed. He looks like he doesn’t know what to do and Shane feels like he’s spiralling in what has become an impromptu heart to heart at what is essentially the most bizarre sleepover in the history of forever. You know, just a grown man and his ghost bro, discussing Shane’s lifetime of regrets, just shooting the shit, just bro things.

“I fucked up. I fucked up.” He says trying desperately to stop his voice from wobbling. He thought he’d be free of this, of the grief and loathing and the suffocating ache of it, each breath feeling like something grim and dark is trying to claw its way through his rib cage. He grits his teeth and tries to breathe, realising that this was a mistake, whether it was joining Ryan here and now or ever interacting with Ryan in the first place, it was a mistake.

“Shane...” Ryan says again, hand clenching and unclenching in the sheets as if he wants to reach out. “Hey man, it’s okay we don’t- I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said anything.” He adds, shifting closer to Shane. Part of him wants to disappear entirely, the other wants to be able to truly feel the mattress beneath him, the warmth of the soft pillow, to curl up in it and hide away like he used to. This is the closest they’ve come to talking about it, about Shane’s death and everything surrounding it. Shane knows it’s because of Ryan, Shane would never even broach the topic if Ryan hadn’t tip toed unwittingly toward it. Trying to dredge it up in his own mind is hazy and painful, it doesn’t feel like him anymore and finding a way to vocalise that feeling unprompted feels impossible. He feels like it shouldn’t matter now, the one event that bought him here can’t be changed so why does he still run from it? He’s ashamed. It burns him up inside. He feels like he’s disappointed Allie, caused her so much worry and fear and pain and didn’t even have the decency to cease to exist even by the end. He’s selfish, still hanging around and dragging Ryan down with him.

“Ask me.” Shane says, voice low and strangled. He will never admit it if Ryan doesn’t ask. “Ask me because I’m not gonna say it otherwise Ryan.” Manic, desperate energy fills him and the lamp flicks off, plunging them into darkness. It’s easier this way, even though it was entirely unintentional, to be with Ryan, in such a private space and speak of what was and continues to be, his worst moment. “Shane I don’t know what you-” Ryan starts but he’s tired and Shane knows he just doesn’t have the energy to lie convincingly. He wonders when exactly he got to know Ryan so well. Assumes now he’ll almost be returning the favour. “You know what I’m talking about Ryan.” He says, cutting him off in a rush. He can’t see anything but the shadow of Ryan’s form as he sits up, dragging the covers with him, wrapping them protectively around his own shoulders until he’s just a lump in the dark. “Just _ask me_.”

It’s quiet for a long time until Ryan’s anxiety riddled voice breaks the silence. “How?” Ryan asks. He doesn’t need to say anything else, the one word question is enough. Shane responds almost immediately, voice sounding strangely monotone even to him. “OD’d. In the bathroom.” He hears Ryan’s sharp intake of breath but Shane can’t tell if it’s out of surprise or something else. “Was it-” he stutters out, voice low and hoarse. “No. I don’t know.” Shane says, cutting him off. He shakes his head, starting to feel dizzy, the clawing nausea, the prickle of heat up his neck. His eyes sting and he’s breathing fast and he sees the outline of Ryan’s form shuffling closer. He can see him now and he looks distraught and Shane battles the regret he feels at being the cause of such pain. This vulnerability is excruciating but it’s safe here in the dark. He feels as though he can let it go, although the feelings that lead to his death will never leave him.

“It’s okay. Shane it’s okay.” He says, voice cracking and he finally reaches out, hand hovering over his and Shane zeros in on it, as if he stares at it long enough he’ll be able to feel its warmth. He opens his mouth to speak but no sound leaves him but rasping breaths. He wants to tell him what he can remember. He’d been out drinking with friends, the night a blur but then he’d returned home and it’s as if the world had ground to a halt. Colour seeped away and there was nothing but a creeping grey haze, oppressive and inescapable. He remembers nothing more than that pervasive sense of nothing and then pain, so intense and fierce that he could barely discern it from the panic and fear that had spread through him like wildfire. Pain and then the frigidness of the bathroom tile beneath his cheek and then nothing. Until he was looking down on himself, pale and still and ended.

Ryan’s been talking this whole time, voice soft even as it stutters and trips over each uttered word. Everything he says sounds earnest even though Shane can’t quite process the words themselves. The only thing that is clear to him is Ryan’s face and _oh God he’s crying_. “Oh God you’re crying.” Shane chokes out for some reason and fuck now he’s crying.

“We’re both crying you fucking idiot.” Ryan snorts out and it's wet and gross but Shane can feel his heart start pounding in his chest and he still can’t breathe right but Ryan’s hand still hovers over his own. “I’m crying because you’re so ugly.” Shane says laughing, and he feels lighter with every snot filled wheeze Ryan bestows on him. Ryan lunges for his pillow and futilely tries to hit him with it. It inevitably cuts right through him but Shane feigns being hit anyway, melodramatically throwing himself back against the pillows. “Shut up, Shane.” He laughs, slamming the pillow back down and falling to face him.

“I was just trying to protect your fragile masculinity.” Shane says, face lighting up with a grin as he meets Ryan’s eyes, turning his head on the pillow to look at him. “My masculinity is bullet proof. I asked my best pal to keep me company until I fall asleep and I only feel a little bit weird about it.”

“Be honest. You want me to be your ghost cuddle buddy don’t you?” Shane finds himself teasing, tells himself that the blush he thinks he sees creeping up Ryan’s neck is just a trick of the light. “Shut up, Shane or I’ll give up on sleep entirely and start trying to figure out how to punch a ghost.”

“Well if that isn’t incentive. Good night Ry.” Shane’s voice drops to a whisper, smiling softly as Ryan lets out the most hideous yawn he’s ever seen in his life. “G’night Shane.” He mumbles into his pillow, eyes slipping shut.

Shane drifts, staring at the ceiling until he can hear that Ryan’s breathing has evened out. He decides it’s time to take his leave and rises without a sound. Asleep Ryan looks peaceful, more vulnerable than he looked crying and Shane can’t stop himself from leaning over and with his last ounce of energy brushing a tendril of dark hair from his forehead, so gently he can almost feel the soft strands slipping between his fingers.

 

* * *

 

Ryan is consuming so much coffee at work that it’s no wonder he finds himself in a cafe down the street from the office with Brent on his lunch break. He’d finally managed to get some sleep after the last night’s revelation but he’d slept fitfully and for some reason knowing really hasn’t put his mind at ease. He’s been thinking about Shane all day but at least he knows he’s not alone. It was bound to happen eventually but having your ghost pal pop up in the bathroom while you’re trying to take a leak is not a fun supernatural adventure. No one wants to be screaming at a pitch only dogs can hear with their dick in their hand. Well maybe some people do but Ryan is not one of them. It takes ten minutes of Shane snickering, attempting to avert his eyes and looking like he might just piss his pants if he were still capable of such a thing, before he finally manages to choke out an apology before vanishing and presumably returning home.

It’s odd how just that incident alone demonstrates how easy it is for them to return to how they were before. Shane’s admission has altered nothing and everything at the same time. He feels closer to him, as if the issue of Shane’s death had been the final barrier to really knowing him. In a completely weird and sappy way Ryan realises he’s never known another soul as well as he knows Shane. He spends so long, head filled with thoughts along the lines of the fact he needs to fix his sleeping schedule and wondering what Shane would think about testing his new found teleporting skills that he doesn’t realise he’s next in line to order.

He’s just flipped open his wallet and paid when Brent practically materialises at his shoulder and points at the picture nestled inside. “Who’s that? Your boyfriend?” Suddenly it’s hard to breathe and he shuffles as quickly as possible along the counter to wait for his drink, his cheeks burning red. “What? No! He’s just a friend.” He manages to wheeze out.

“Suuure.” Brent drawls looking dubious. “You’ve got just a picture of him in your wallet, definitely just friends.” Ryan falls silent for a moment, gaze falling to the picture he’d never thought to remove, that had somehow ended up in the windowed portion of his wallet, as if he’d put it there on purpose. “No man.” He manages to speak even though the words stick in his throat “we’re really just friends.” Brent looks guilty at his forlorn tone and to his credit immediately offers his support. “Oh shit man I’m sorry.” He says and Ryan wants to laugh at the fact the conclusion he draws is that of unrequited love and not that the guy in the picture is actually dead. _Maybe it’s both_ , his mind replies and that makes it so much worse. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Brent asks but Ryan just shakes his head.

“Nah man it’s fine, let’s get going.” He says. He flips his wallet shut and shoves it in his jacket pocket with a little more force than strictly necessary. He swipes his drink from the bar and dashes out with Brent hot on his heels.

“Is it that Shane guy?” Brent asks and Ryan wishes he’d just drop it but unfortunately for him he can tell that his evasiveness has just gotten Brent intrigued. Ryan is honestly surprised Brent remembers his name but then again it’s not like Ryan shies away from talking about him, _my friend Shane._ Suddenly it doesn’t sound quite right anymore. This is literally the last thing he needs but Brent isn’t going to let him off the hook and Ryan is definitely not going to tell him the truth. Brent is the last person on Earth that would believe him if he told him he had a ghost that he may or may not have feelings for haunting his apartment. Ryan resigns himself to telling some half-truths. “Uh yeah, that’s Shane.” He says refusing to look at him and taking a gulp of his too hot coffee, savouring the bitter burn of it. He realises that the small photo in his wallet is the only look any of his friends and colleagues have gotten of Shane seeing as he can’t exactly take a selfie with him to plaster on Instagram. Shane doesn’t show up on camera even when he does allow Ryan to attempt to snap a picture. He does however have several laughter filled videos of Shane carrying around random objects or looking like the invisible man.

“You like him?” Brent says smirking and nudging him with an elbow. Ryan sets his jaw, eyes fixed on their office just down the street. He feels his heart hammering in his chest and thinking about what the real answer to that question might be makes him feel sick. “He’s a pain in the ass.” He says unable to stop his lips from twitching up into a small smile. It’s an added bonus that his answer isn’t even a lie.

“Really now?” Brent raises an eyebrow and Ryan promptly chokes on his coffee.

“Oh my- fuck off Brent.” He croaks into his sleeve, coughing and spluttering as they make their way up the steps to the office’s entrance. He laughs, leaving him with nothing but a wink as he pushes open the door and disappears into the depths of the office. Ryan shuffles back to his desk, guzzling down more coffee in one gulp than is strictly advisable and decidedly not thinking about Brent and his stupid implications.

 

* * *

 

Shane finds himself back in the bathroom, still giggling so much that the vertigo is barely noticeable. Curiously, he straightens and just stands meeting his own gaze in the bathroom mirror and waits. The nausea doesn’t hit him. There’s no dizziness or flare of heat. He just feels the dank coolness he’d associated with the room when he was alive. It’s still where he died, so the mere fact he’s standing where his body had fallen freaks him out. This time though the feeling is firmly just in his head, the physical sensations are decidedly absent. Well physical-ish. He suspects it might have something to do with the fact that last night he’d confronted his death, in the vaguest most excruciating way possible but he’d done it nonetheless. It seems illogical to him, that talking about it alters his experience so drastically for no other reason than it was something he had wanted to avoid. Look at him, thinking being a ghost is something you can logic out. The skeptic in him is truly alive and well.

As he tends to whenever anything about his life makes absolutely no sense he makes his way up to Allie’s place. _She’ll set me straight_ , he thinks, _she’ll help me figure it out_.

As luck would not have it Allie is a law unto herself and promptly ignores his questions about his bathroom related feelings and focuses in, once again, on Ryan. Apparently revealing your cause of death to someone is a _big deal_. “You told him?” She asks sounding surprised. “How?

“He asked,” he shrugs, shifting uncomfortably in his seat before standing up and starting to pace “and I wanted to tell him.” Apparently that simple fact is more telling than he’d originally thought because Allie picks up on the _why_ of it all almost immediately.

“You like him.” She states. “A match made in heaven.”

“Hey c’mon now that’s a little on the nose even for me.” He laughs nervously.

“Are you gonna deny it?” She asks an eyebrow raised and fuck of course he isn’t going to. He’s _dead_ , if he can accept that he’s pretty sure he can acknowledge the fact that he’s falling for his very alive friend. “No I’m not but talking about it isn’t gonna do shit.” He says and it comes out angry and bitter and twisted until it pours out of him with broiling self loathing. It’s so sudden, so violent that he doesn’t even have the time to be surprised by his own outburst. He feels volatile, like he’s flying apart and all he can do is grab at the parts of himself that are being ripped away, snatch at them and clutch them territorially to his chest.

“It’s not like I can confess or ask him out on a date. It’s not like he can introduce me as his boyfriend at the office party or at family dinner. It’s not like we can get married and buy a house and adopt a fucking dog.” He screams it and he’s distantly aware that the walls are shaking and he’s shattered several light bulbs. All those opportunities, the possibilities, are dead, as dead as he is and there will never be anything more than what he is right then, than what he’s managed to gain in his sorry excuse of an afterlife. “I can’t even hold his hand.” He chokes out and Allison starts toward him, arms out as if to hug him until she realises she can’t. He looks down at his trembling hand and remembers how Ryan’s had hovered over his. He coughs, trying to pull himself together. Allie places a hand over where his heart should be “I think circumstances suggest I was never meant for that white picket fence Allie.” He smiles sadly, moves to try and touch her cheek as her eyes fill with tears. “Fuck that white picket fence.” She says viciously, so viciously that it makes the tears fall faster but it surprises a laugh out of Shane. “What we have? You, Ryan and me? It’s enough. It’s the closest I’ve come to family and it’s enough. My boys. My beautiful boys.”

Shane swallows and nods. _She’ll help me figure it out_. It’s enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry? A tough one huh? I promise we'll be seeing the sun again soon.
> 
> Thank you again for your support on this fic, all the kudos, all the comments, the suggestions and theories about Shane's ghostly shenanigans are a fucking delight. You're so funny you should probably be writing the hijinks and not me.
> 
> I love hearing from people so if you're into it hit me up on [tumblr](http://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/). Have a good one!


	9. Passion Fruit Martini

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Star Wars reference? Check!  
> The Matrix reference? Check!  
> 100% accurate Yankee candle scents? Errrrrr check!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one goes out to the absolute sweetheart Joey! He let me in on the fact him and his hubby had a scented candle sniffing session before they made it official so you know it's peak romance. Check 'em out here on [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/InkStainsOnMyHands) or over on [tumblr](http://faequill.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Thank you all again for the sweet comments and kudos! Keep 'em coming, drown me in that sweet sweet validation.

“Field trip! Field trip! Field trip!” Shane chants enthusiastically from the passenger seat of Ryan’s tiny, _tiny_ , car. He waves his hands in the air enthusiastically and Ryan glances over at him laughing at the fact his arms disappear through the roof. “Jesus it’s like carpooling with a 5 year old.” Ryan huffs, his left hand leaving the steering wheel to rub at his eye. It’s endearing and Shane feels giddy, so giddy he knows he must be grinning like an idiot. This is the third of their new experiments intended to test the limits of Shane’s new found ability to leave the apartment complex. They’ve progressed from Shane teleporting to Ryan’s location to actually attempting to go to a specific destination together and Shane is excited. There is a distinct sense of normalcy sitting in Ryan’s car riding shotgun, switching through radio stations without so much as touching the console. Ryan swats at him, trying to get him to stop but Shane just grins wider, elated.

It’s 3AM and they’re going to Walmart. He probably shouldn’t be as excited as he is to go to a Walmart in the middle of the night but honestly as long as he’s with Ryan he could take a vacation to Hell and he’d be content. Though he hopes he won’t come to regret thinking that. When Ryan had shuffled out of his bedroom that night he’d thought (or hoped) that Ryan was going to ask him to join him for another supernatural sleepover, a spiritual snuggle session, but instead Ryan’s insomnia had given him different ideas. So here they are, pulling into a mostly deserted parking lot under the guise of testing the waters of Shane’s new paranormal ability.

It’s odd how the store feels both new and familiar. It’s the same sort of ridiculous liminal space but as he watches Ryan shuffle along the aisle, stifling a yawn in the sleeve of his too big grey sweater a thrill tingles up his spine. Ryan is mumbling sleepily, to himself or Shane he can’t quite tell but he feels like he’s melting as he watches Ryan blink owlishly at the shelves. Ryan picks up a scented candle, sniffs it and pulls a face, mouth twisting in disgust. He holds it out to Shane and he gives it a good ol’ sniff, gagging at the saccharine scent. “Gross.” He mutters and Ryan wheezes, putting it back and grabbing another one. They talk quietly, the weird stillness of the store comforting. Ryan occasionally pulls a candle from the shelf and sniffs it before holding it out to Shane. They get a couple of odd looks, or rather Ryan does but currently he doesn’t look menacing enough to arouse the suspicion of any of the staff. They’ve all seen worse in Walmart at 3AM so they continue to wander undisturbed.

“I’m really loving _Passion Fruit Martini_ Ry.” He says wiggling his eyebrows as he steps a little closer. “But I gotta say _Pink Sands_ is still my favourite.” Ryan rolls his eyes at him, crossing his arms and rubbing them briefly, he shivers as if cold and Shane takes a step back again. Ryan frowns at him. “You’re taking this entirely too seriously. Why is _Pink Sands_ so special?” He says sounding endlessly exhausted and confused. It makes Shane want to wrap an arm around him and hold him close. _It reminds me of you_ , he wants to say but “I enjoy the smell of sand” is what he says instead and although it isn’t the truth it makes Ryan laugh brightly so it’s good enough. “I don’t like sand. It’s coarse, rough and irritating and-”

“-It gets everywhere. God you’re such a fucking _nerd._ ”

“And you’re not? You knew what I was quoting! You’re so fucking weird.” Ryan mutters, meandering over to the next aisle.

“Says the guy currently talking to himself.” Shane shoots back, smiling from ear to ear as he follows along.

“I’m not talking to myself, I’m talking to you.” Ryan huffs, rubbing his eyes and yawning as he toys with a spatula.

“Tell that to Neo over there.” Shane says pointing at a shady looking guy in sunglasses and a trench coat. Ryan glances over at him and bursts out laughing. It’s not that funny but they’re both tired and Ryan is so delirious with it he lets go of the candle Shane hadn’t realised he was carrying.

Miraculously Shane catches it and passes it back to him, feeling frozen by Ryan’s tired stare as he plucks it from his grasp. Ryan sighs looking down at the candle back in his hands. “Thanks.” He whispers, glancing over his shoulder at the shady guy, now gaping at them in disbelief. He smiles nervously and jerks his head, leading Shane away from the kitchen supplies. “Let's go home okay big guy?” Ryan smiles up at him, dark eyes heavy with tiredness, warm and inviting.

“Sure thing, little guy.” He says softly, voice saturated with affection under the harsh fluorescent lights. He hovers over Ryan’s shoulder as they check out and follows Ryan out, clutching the candle to him. He hands it over to Shane when they settle inside the car and he turns it in his hands, taking off the lid and inhaling deep. It’s subtle, a spicy, citrus aroma undercut by the scent of the forest after rain. “ _Moonlight._ ” He says quietly eyes scanning the label. “What made you pick this one?” Ryan glances over at him briefly before quickly returning his eyes to the road. His hands flex and tighten on the steering wheel as he looks straight ahead, taking a deep breath. “It reminds me of you.” He says simply. Shocked into silence, Shane smiles feeling hot and cold simultaneously and suddenly he’s falling through the floor of car and finding himself flat on his back on the asphalt. He hears the screech of tires as Ryan hits the breaks on the deserted stretch of road. When he looks up Ryan has safely pulled over and he can see him scrambling out of the car.

He lets his head fall back to the ground and laughs almost manically into his hands. He doesn’t stop until Ryan kneels beside him, grinning down at him and Shane hates to think what he looks like to anyone else right now, smiling down at the ground, alone at around 4AM in the middle of the street. He reaches up without thinking and touches Ryan’s cheek, his eyes flutter shut for a moment before opening again and Shane wonders what he can feel but ultimately decides not to ask him. Shane can’t feel the warmth or softness of Ryan’s skin but to have him looking at him with such amused fondness is almost enough. “You okay there buddy?” Ryan asks him and Shane huffs out a laugh letting his hand drop to the floor. “I’ve never felt more alive” he deadpans and Ryan wheezes out a laugh.

“That is a wholly inappropriate thing for a dead guy to say.” Ryan replies and Shane just grins because yeah it’s a little, _dark_ , considering his circumstances but it’s also not a lie. “You’re inappropriate.” He says lamely but again it makes Ryan laugh so sometimes he doesn’t mind being the butt of the joke. “Come on big guy. Teleport home or get back in the car. I’m not in the mood to get arrested tonight.”

“That implies that sometimes you are in the mood. Ryan Bergara is that a kink of yours?” Shane teases scandalised as he gets to his feet and starts walking alongside Ryan, back to the car. Ryan rolls his eyes. “Yeah challenging authority really gets me going.”

“I bet.” Shane says, voice low and Ryan just gapes at him before replying. “Just get in the fucking car Shane.”

“Hey now, exactly who is in charge here?” He watches Ryan dither and flush before he gets in the car slamming the door and starting the ignition. Shane takes his own seat without touching the door. He smirks the whole ride home, Ryan’s knuckles white of the steering wheel.

“I hate you.” Ryan grits out as he toes off his shoes once they shuffle their way back into the apartment. Shane just laughs, taking a seat on the couch and watching as Ryan slouches around the apartment, grabbing a glass of water. He walks toward his bedroom but pauses in the hallway and turns to look at him. Shane doesn’t need to be asked anymore, Ryan’s hesitation is enough and he chooses to spare him the embarrassment this time. He hauls himself up from the safety of the couch cushions and follows. “Clearly you don’t hate me enough to stop inviting me in for a sleepover.”

“Oh I hate you enough. If I hated you more I would’ve called an exorcist after the first month.”

“After a month? It took you that long to start thinking about getting rid of me?” Ryan just glares at him.

“Look it’s no fun mocking you when you turn around and do it yourself. Only I’m allowed to tell you what an asshole you are.”

“Aww Ry! You do care!”

“Yeah I care that you’re ruining my fun.” He deadpans, throwing himself onto the bed. Shane moves to take up his usual spot but freezes when Ryan’s eyes widen in alarm.

“You’re fading out. What- Are you doing it on purpose? If it’s because of what I said-” Ryan says and Shane can see he’s trying to keep himself steady but there is a shakiness to him, tinged by panic. “Shit. No it’s not your fault Ry.” Shane says trying to focus but it’s like a wall is being built, brick by brick and his head hurts in a way similar to that of a migraine. “I’m tired.” He says and it’s a bone deep satisfied kind of exhaustion. Tonight has been one of the best nights he’s ever had and all they’ve done is go to a fucking Walmart at 3AM and sniff some candles. “We’ve been pushing a lot of boundaries today.” He says but means it in more ways than one. He’s been pushing the boundaries of what he’s capable of but he’s also been pushing at Ryan, gravitating toward him and letting himself interact with him as if he too were alive. It’s dangerous and it’s getting harder and harder to reel himself back in, to remind himself of the limitations of his form.

Ryan lets out a laugh that barely disguises his relief “Yeah I guess you’re right.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” Shane says and silence descends for so long that Shane is almost convinced Ryan has fallen asleep until his groggy sounding voice breaks the stillness. “Do you ever think about, y’know, ‘passing over’?” Ryan asks tentatively, eyes staring through Shane’s form where he lays on his side. Shane hums, closes his eyes briefly so that Ryan’s voice, deep and quiet is the only thing he can sense. “Nah.” He replies honestly. It’s something he’s afraid of, suddenly being snatched away from his afterlife, but he’s working under the assumption that so long as he doesn’t _want_ to go anywhere then here he’ll stay. “I like it here.”

“But don’t you want to find peace?” Ryan asks and Shane opens his eyes to look at him. His words are starting to slur together as his eyes droop closed. “Nah.” He says again. “I think I’ve already found it.”

 

* * *

 

Days start to pass in a happy blur for Shane and he finds himself getting out a lot. Partly because he can and also partly because Ryan invites him. They go grocery shopping and on walks and to the park and on drives and it feels good to be out in the fresh air again. It feels domestic and easy to just hang out in Ryan’s presence and it’s at those times he allows himself to revel in it, feeling alive even though he shouldn’t. Although most of the outings take place under the cover of darkness so that Ryan seemingly talking to himself doesn’t draw too much attention, Shane doesn’t mind. The quiet drives and walks on the outskirts are soothing and there’s a strange sort of peace to be found in shuffling between the aisles of a brightly lit 7-Eleven situated on a busy street. Ryan looks good in the glow of neon.

It makes the hours he floats around the apartment complex alone a little more bearable. Ryan has a life, one that’s busy and chock full of friends and family. As much as Shane would love to accompany him to the bar or Disneyland he can’t and he wouldn’t always want to. People live separate lives and even if Shane were a regular friend to Ryan they wouldn’t spend every minute together. A guy needs his space, just like sometimes a ghost has gotta float upside down from the light fixtures. It’s healthy to have time apart, Shane can watch reruns of Frasier to his heart’s delight and Ryan can ride Space Mountain until he’s waving hello to the hotdog he ate at lunch.

That doesn’t mean that Shane doesn’t feel a guilty kind of jealousy sometimes. Like now when Ryan rushes through the door with a quick ‘hello’ thrown in his direction as he makes his way toward the bathroom to get ready to go back out to some bar with friends from work. He catches a glimpse of him on his way out of the bathroom ten minutes later, fresh from the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist and he sucks in a breath snapping his gaze to the TV as he turns it on and stares at it mindlessly. He doesn’t think about Ryan tipsy and flushed. He doesn’t think about his dark eyes under the dim lights. He doesn’t think about how he’d have to lean in closer to be heard over the noise. He doesn’t think about the fact that _Zack_ will likely be there tonight, experiencing all the things Shane can’t and he feels envy burn hot and poisonous in his gut and he hates himself for it. Zack is a good guy and Ryan deserves to let loose, it isn’t right to begrudge him this.

It doesn’t change the fact that Shane feels his face burn hot when Ryan emerges from his bedroom. His hair is swept back and he’s still sporting some stubble and he looks strong, confident, _powerful,_ as he shrugs a jacket over a deep red short sleeved shirt that makes Shane’s mouth go dry. Shane looks down at himself, wearing the same shirt and jeans he wore on the night he died and feels woefully inadequate. “What do you think?” Ryan asks him, arms outstretched. Shane clears his throat.

“Looking good man.” He says with an awkward thumbs up and then something dawns on him. “Do you- do you um need me to make myself scarce tonight or something?” He asks and almost laughs at the look of confusion on Ryan’s face that slowly morphs into embarrassed surprise. “Umm no? I don’t think so?” He replies hesitantly and Shane can’t discern whether it's because he’s genuinely unsure or that he really hadn’t thought about the possibility of bringing anyone home with him. “Okay I’m just... putting it out there. It’s your life and your apartment I can get out of your way.” Shane rambles and stops himself from saying anything stupid by shutting his mouth so abruptly his teeth click.

“Okay... Thanks?” Ryan says shifting awkwardly and fiddling with his keys.

“Yeah no problem, I’ll see you later. Have a good night.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets. Ryan pauses in the doorway.

“Don’t do anything you wouldn’t do?” He adds with a grin and it startles a laugh out of Shane.

“Don’t do anything I _would_ do either. Go on get outta here!” He shoos him out of the door and he can hear Ryan’s laugh from down the hall.

Now the problem with this whole teleportation or transportation perk is that it kinda sorta just does what it wants, which is how Shane finds himself in a bar not 20 minutes later, completely unbidden. It’s not really a surprise that he’s ended up here, this is apparently just his luck, just the way of the world for Shane Madej. With a sigh he immediately finds his way to a vacant spot by the wall, the music and chatter are loud and he seeks out some sense of stability. He hasn’t been to a bar since the night he died and the thought makes his hands feel clammy, overwhelmed by sights and smells and sounds. He tries to centre himself, the bar is somewhere he decidedly does not want to be for Ryan’s sake and his own. He shuts his eyes tightly and thinks _home home home_ , over and over again, _I want to go home_. Until he hears it, the unmistakable laugh he would know anywhere. Against his better judgement he opens his eyes and his gaze falls on him, sipping on a beer and surrounded by friends at a small table a little ways away. He just gets stuck like that, watching and observing for a while like the creep he was insistent he wasn’t going to be when he first interacted with Ryan. A pretty girl seems to hang on his every word and the guy standing next to him throws an arm around his shoulders, squeezing his arm and Ryan is oblivious to it all throwing his head back and laughing so loud that it eclipses everything else in the room. Zack sidles up to the table, pushing another beer Ryan’s way with a wink and Shane decides he’s had enough, turns his back and makes his way through the crowd, walking right through the mass of bodies until he’s finally outside and he can swallow this unwarranted jealousy. This was what he’d been afraid of, getting too close that nothing ever feels enough. Once upon a time Shane would’ve been content to just exist in Ryan’s general vicinity but with every step he takes closer to him, the more he wants. And wanting what you can’t have is a recipe for disaster.

He leans against the cold, brick wall and breathes, closing his eyes and after several long minutes he feels the familiar drop in his stomach, the dizziness creeping up on him. When he opens his eyes he’s met with his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, miserable but unchanged since the day he died. He makes his way into the living room and drops heavily onto the couch turning the TV on as he goes. He drifts, the images on the screen flickering in front of him but whatever show is on doesn’t register.

Eventually a key turns in the lock and Shane is catapulted back to the present waiting with bated breath as the door creaks open. The relief he feels when he realises Ryan is alone makes him feel sick. “Shane! Shane!” Ryan calls excitedly. He isn’t drunk just tipsy and so goddamn excited it’s like his entire being is vibrating with it. “Couch.” Shane says unable to muster the energy to appear in any way but Ryan doesn’t complain about it. “I’ve been thinking.” He says breathlessly, throwing himself down onto the couch.

“Always dangerous.” Shane mumbles in reply like he just can’t help himself. Ryan just rolls his eyes and continues on regardless.

“I have an idea.”

“Hit me with it cowboy.”

“How would you like to be on an episode of Unsolved?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay couple of disclaimers:  
> 1\. I'm not american nor have i ever been to america.  
> 2\. as per point (1) i have never stepped foot in a Walmart or 7-Eleven.  
> 3\. I have also never been to Disneyland.  
> 4\. Therefore due to point (3) i have no fucking idea what Space Mountain is actually like i just know it's a thing that exists and that i would love it cause i googled it and holy shit the LIGHTS.
> 
> Thanks again for the love. I love interacting with people so mosey on over to my [tumblr](http://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/) if you fancy a chat pals!


	10. Buzzfeed Sorta-solved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An intimate knowledge of the seminal classic Copacabana by Barry Manilow is essential for an optimal reading experience of this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks how's it cookin' good lookin'? Sorry this chapter has taken so long I've had internet issues that still aren't completely fixed and I spent some of the time it was working being indulgent and fucking around making mood boards and fixing up my tumblr so thank you for bearing with me on this one and supporting me in my poor decisions and concerning lack of priorities.
> 
> AGAIN! Thank you so much for the kudos and the comments it's a lot of fun to see them pop up and read and reply to all you clever cookies leaving such lovely notes for me to treasure. Now more of these two bozos I guess!

No. His answer is no. At least it is initially but Ryan Bergara has a way of worming his way into the minds and hearts of mere mortal men and Shane finds himself agreeing to things he had previously been obstinately opposed to. The first, is that they’ll film a one off episode about the apartment complex as a whole. As it turns out, a lot of people have died there and they’re not sure if they should be at all concerned about this revelation. Shane agrees on several conditions, conditions he’s so stringent about he spends one night typing it up on Ryan’s laptop for him to see at work the next day. It continues as follows:

 

  1. There will be no specific mention of the subject, one Shane Madej, or any personal details thereof for the sake of preserving his undead sanity and safeguarding against the possibility that previous friends or family should stumble upon the content and become distressed.
  2. There will be limited focus on the apartment. The subject is aware of the fact that Mr Bergara has been tweeting about ‘the weird shit going on in my apartment’ for a while now, but would like to limit the investigation of said space for the following reasons: 2a) To preserve the privacy of both parties. 2b) To maintain the integrity of the show. 2c) Because then we’ll have to clean less.
  3. The subject will not be a performing monkey. Paranormal phenomena will be limited to a selection of the following: 3a) Turning a maglight on and off maybe like 3 times, probably semi-intelligently. 3b) A total of 3 almost words on the spirit box (the spirit box will be on and function for no longer than 2 minutes before the subject breaks it beyond repair). 3c) Throwing a pen or some yet to be decided small object at Brent. 3d) Twirling a dowsing rod for a bit I guess.
  4. Mr Bergara acknowledges that all comments of possible fakery and baloney are invited upon himself by initiating the investigation and sharing the results online. The subject holds no responsibility for any subsequent public humiliation but reserves the right to laugh.
  5. Brent must remain at least three feet from the subject at all times lest he be subject to accidental strangulation.



 

Ryan calls him out on the petty nature of his completely superfluous and definitely not legally binding poor excuse of a contract but Ryan’s annoyance is the price he pays for somehow convincing Shane that being an actual part of an episode will be a good time for all involved. The second request is a whole lot easier to agree to. Ryan simply wants him to accompany them on location. Why exactly Ryan doesn’t specify but Shane suspects it has something to do with the fact that his presence may encourage any spirits Ryan can’t see to interact with them more effectively. It’s safe to say even though he’d be essentially playing ghost guide of the abandoned and decrepit hell-hole Ryan will have them traipse through he is intrigued to experience meeting a fellow spectre.

The day of the shoot at the apartment is planned meticulously, Shane’s terms have been agreed, Allie has delightedly agreed to an interview and it isn’t long before the moment of truth rolls around and Ryan turns up after running an errand with a whole load of _stuff_. The usual instruments of torture are all carefully arranged on the breakfast bar and Shane watches as Ryan checks them all over in turn with deft and practised hands. He presses play on the audio recorder and an extremely muffled and off-key version of the classic song Copacabana by Barry Manilow is what can be heard through the device’s small speakers. The look Ryan gives him as he pointedly presses the delete button screams ‘you’re lucky you’re already dead because I desperately want to kill you right now’. It’s the reaction Shane had been hoping for and he grins, chuckling quietly as Ryan double checks that they have enough batteries in an attempt to ignore him.

Much to Shane’s delight Ryan continues to grumble about the limited time he has to investigate the apartment itself. They all agree that, despite the unusually high number of deaths that have occurred either inside the building or on the property, Shane is the only current resident ghost or ghost resident. Ryan argues that investigating the rest of the building for the majority of their time is a waste considering the fact they know they won’t get any evidence there. Shane argues that for the sake of format they should investigate the building like they would any other. If Shane were to provide evidence that seems too compelling then viewers would immediately write it off as a hoax, especially considering it’s Ryan’s home. Dialling back the phenomena and providing compelling evidence in a similar vein to previous episodes is better than risking Ryan being branded a fraud. It’s almost as if Ryan hasn’t even seen season two of Stranger Things and Shane knows for a fact he has because he was there.

Ryan starts to fret as the sun starts setting, checking his phone every five seconds until it finally chimes with a text letting them know Brent has arrived with a crew in tow, which really only means two of their colleagues that Shane doesn’t know the names of. They make their way down to the lobby and Shane quickly finds a spot to occupy in the corner as the well coordinated team get to work. He hovers behind the scenes, determined not to be a distraction and watches the thrum of them at work, how their busy energy fills the dated foyer and how Ryan’s fizzles at the centre of it all. As much as Shane thrives on the fire Ryan gets in his eyes when he’s annoyed, Shane really doesn’t want to mess up Unsolved, something he’s worked so long and hard on. Shane cares about Ryan way too much to fuck up something so important to him.

Sometimes though, it seems as though Ryan has different ideas. Every once in a while he’ll glance over in Shane’s direction. He sends him a thumbs up or a wink every time and the smile he receives in return is blinding. It’s easy, even in the flurry of activity, to forget that anyone else is there with them. Ryan is so clearly in his element, exuding confidence and excitement and happiness that the cameras and lights and people barely register.

“Dude what the fuck are you looking at?” Brent asks peering into the corner where Shane stands when they wrap up the intro and prepare to head upstairs to speak to Allie. “Hmm?” Ryan hums distractedly, he nervously adjusts his hat glancing back at Brent “What?”

“You keep just smiling off into the distance, it’s super creepy.”

“What? I do not.” Ryan laughs nervously, looking anywhere but at the spot Shane occupies as the team pack up their cameras and start to move upstairs. “Yes. You do. You keep staring wistfully off into the distance. Thinking about your boyfriend?”

“Fuck off Brent.” Ryan says breathily, punching Brent in the arm as they turn to make their way up the stairs.

Shane stays frozen in the corner by the shitty plastic plant that stands by the door and feels cold to his core. He should not be reeling at the revelation of the possibility that Ryan might have a boyfriend. But he is, by God he is. Strangely the thought had never occurred to him but one look at Ryan screams that it’s a definite possibility, Shane had seen the effect Ryan has on people when he’d accidentally been transported to the bar that night a few weeks ago. Ever since then he can’t help but wonder what he would’ve done, if he’d ever spotted Ryan in a bar like that when he was alive. Would he even have had the courage to talk to him, buy him a drink? Probably not. Would his friends have noticed how his gaze wandered and play wing man for his sorry ass? Almost definitely. Would he have stood a chance either way? Not a hope in Hell.

When he finally manages to get himself to move he starts up the stairs toward the second floor and Allie’s apartment slowly, dragging his feet. Brent’s words have dredged up that all too familiar jealousy but what bothers Shane the most is that Ryan has never talked about it, partner or no. Feelings aside Shane had at least thought they were friends and friends told each other if they were dating someone. Didn’t they? Sure Shane hasn’t divulged a large part of his dating history but they’ve talked about friends and family and hardships. The more he thinks about it the more he realises that his and Ryan’s ‘friendship’ is far from conventional, and to be more than a little bothered by the fact Ryan hasn’t told him about his romantic endeavours has more to do with the fact that he isn’t one of them than anything else. Telling himself that he was irritated because Ryan hasn’t opened up to him about it is a lie. If one glance at him surrounded by loving friends at a bar was enough to stir the green eyed monster within him then Shane doesn’t want to think about how much it would tear him apart to hear Ryan wax poetic about a new beau. He’d be happy for him of course, genuinely so because Ryan _deserves_ romance and all that sappy crap Shane has always been afraid to reveal that he adores. At the same time though, it’d hurt like Hell.

He plasters on a smile as he walks through the door to Allie’s apartment but it doesn’t stay fake for very long. She has the whole team in hysterics about something and he catches her eye briefly. He winks at her and she greets him with one of her own as he settles himself by the living room window. The laughter doesn’t stop when the cameras finally start rolling and Allie spins a series of wonderful stories about apparitions that supposedly haunt the halls of the apartment complex including one about a man that could be him but ultimately isn’t. Shane is sure Ryan could make the episode solely dedicated to Allie’s interview and his viewers would beg for more but eventually after a short break which sees Allie making tea and coffee for the Unsolved crew they say their goodbyes and head to their apartment. He follows them all inside and his debut looms ominously as they set up Ryan’s equipment.

Shane is nervous, the apartment is suddenly full of people he doesn’t know and it feels invasive. He feels like an actor about to go on stage, jittery and full of adrenaline. Ryan spares a glance at him and suddenly Shane is reminded about his earlier freak out and thoughts of _boyfriends_ bombard him unbidden. It’s dark now and Ryan and Brent bumble around the apartment with flashlights even though the electrics work just fine. “Do we really need to do this in the dark?” He asks just before Brent asks the exact same. _Finally_ someone talking some sense. Ryan inevitably ignores them both and before Shane has a chance to mentally prepare himself the cameras are rolling and Ryan is in investigation mode.

Shane is wholly unprepared for the pang he feels in his chest when Ryan acts as if he can’t see him. It reminds him of the tense few weeks Ryan had been practically unaware of his existence and Shane’s desperate attempts to so much as push a pen off the coffee table. “You’re way less scared than you usually are doing this.” Brent says, sweeping a camera around the living room and Ryan just shrugs. “I live here. Sure the bumps in the night are scary-” Shane snorts knowing that’s a lie, Ryan hasn’t been even remotely afraid of him since he’d written on the bathroom mirror “but if it wanted me dead it’s had plenty of chances before now.” He has, he knows where Ryan sleeps after all.

“Or there’s no ghost Ryan and it’s all just one sleep deprived delusion.” Brent shoots back.

“I like this guy.” Shane snickers and although the lack of acknowledgement niggles at him slightly he also knows that Ryan isn’t doing it on purpose. In fact, the thought that Ryan might be desperately having to choke back some kind of retort fills him with unadulterated delight and it opens up wonderful new ways to mock him. “I mean I would’ve obviously been the better skeptic, I’ve got more panache.”

“Oookay quiet time.” Ryan says and he knows he’s not just talking to Brent. He flicks on the audio recorder and they all stand around in silence like a bunch of idiots until Shane, in the most monotone voice he can muster cycles through a series of stock phrases like ‘hello’, ‘what?’ and ‘hotdogs’. Just for kicks he gives them his best rendition of ‘Hello My Baby’ that has Ryan fighting a laugh. He’s gonna have to go through the audio himself now.

Next are the dowsing rods and as soon as Ryan has them in his hands Shane starts spinning them around like helicopter blades. Ryan feigns surprise and Shane is losing it as he stands next to him using a single index finger to set the rods spinning. Brent is adamant that Ryan is doing it despite the fact that the almost violent speed of the sticks of metal couldn’t possibly be caused by his obviously steady hands. When Brent takes them from him Shane makes sure to give the rods a little nudge so that he gets jabbed in the chest. He hisses and hands them back to Ryan with a petulant huff that has Shane doubling over in laughter. He hopes they keep that in.

It’s all fun and games until it’s time for the spirit box and Shane groans as soon as Ryan switches it on as he stands in the hallway by the bathroom. The little box bursts to life with the deafening noise of static and Shane lets it fill his head with the now familiar fuzz. “Is there anybody here with us?” Ryan asks. A pause.

_Yes_

“What’s your name?” Ryan asks and Shane has to think for a minute about what name to give.

_Uhhh-_

“Uhhh...” Brent mimics.

_Shut. Up._

“Yeah Brent shut up.” Ryan laughs loud and clear over the jarring cacophony of sound the spirit box emanates. Shane tries to focus on Ryan’s voice and answering his subsequent questions but the grip he has on any other sound outside of the radiowaves and his own thoughts starts to slip. Well he seems to let his thoughts fall from his grasp too because suddenly his voice is breaking through the noise asking a question of his own he’s not really sure he wants to ask.

 _Do you- Boyfriend_? Are the words that crackle through the speaker on the small device and suddenly Ryan is looking straight at him. His wide eyes and sudden focus shake Shane and a loud pop sounds from the spirit box and the little screen goes black as they’re plunged into silence. “Shit.” Ryan mutters looking down and fiddling with the device turning it on and off again in an attempt to fix it. Nothing happens and suddenly Brent’s laughter fills the small apartment. He walks out into the living room. “Oh ghosty!” He calls “Do you have a crush on Ryan here?”

“Oh my- shut the fuck up dude.” Ryan grumbles. Shane throws a pen from the nearby coffee table at Brent so hard he flinches visibly when it hits him square between the shoulder blades. “Hey!” He complains at Ryan, clearly thinking he’s the culprit even though Shane knows the footage will prove otherwise. “Alright I think we’re done here.” Ryan says with finality, he flips on the lights and Shane takes in a deep breath letting the nervous energy leak out of him. He feels tired and drained, like he could sleep for weeks if his incorporeal form would allow such a thing. He watches in a daze as the rest of the team pack up in a timely manner and file out until only Ryan and himself are left in the quiet, warm safety of the apartment, undisturbed.

Ryan is silent as he potters around the apartment, changing into sweats and a t-shirt and flipping the TV on. Shane settles himself on the couch next to him and Ryan’s lack of reaction demonstrates that he can’t be seen. He tries, he really does but he can’t quite muster the energy to appear. “Do you?” Ryan says without any preamble, gaze fixed on the evening news.

“What?” Shane croaks out even though he knows what Ryan is referring to.

“Do you, y’know-” Ryan trails off.

“I’m dead.” Shane replies almost immediately as if it somehow answers the question.

“What does that- You’re dead not dead _inside._ ” Ryan rolls his eyes.

“Debatable.” He mutters.

“ _Shane_.”

“ _Ry guy_ ” He says in that stupid voice he does and he knows he’s trying too hard to avoid the question, overcompensating like a motherfucker. “For once in your afterlife just answer the goddamn question.” Ryan says, frustration rolling off him in waves where he sits curled up in the corner of the couch, his entire body rigid. “I... No.” Shane responds after what he assumes to be a telling pause but when Ryan doesn’t call him out something painful clenches in his chest at not having been caught in the lie.

“Do you- y’know-” Shane asks tentatively.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” Ryan replies bluntly.

“ _Because_...”

“I don’t have a boyfriend or a girlfriend okay?” Ryan says tersely and chooses not to elaborate on the subject.

“Okay.” Shane says quietly, lamely, as an awkward and stale silence settles around them. Ryan sighs, getting up from the couch and heading toward the door. “Wanna go to Walmart?” He asks with a small smile. Something is wrong, there is something decidedly off kilter about the both of them but dwelling on it only yields an alien sort of tension, one they’re both afraid of. “Field trip!” Shane cries and the laugh it elicits from Ryan allows him to ignore it, just for a little while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why the fuck you lyin' Shane?  
> Next up is gonna be Ghoul boys on tour! What kind of spooks should I have them come across I wonder??
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! If it tickles your pickle hit me up on [tumblr](https://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/) I've linked up my ao3 and fic stuff there and I'll start doing prompts if anyone is in the mood to send any over!


	11. All Bark, No Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A summation of everything we know about Shane Madej so far: Would 100% call a murder ghost an asshole to its face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's got ghosts, it's got ya boys, it's got murder. It's a doozy.
> 
>  **Trigger warnings:** Mentioned suicide, mentioned murder (including that of minors). No graphic descriptions but a mention of blood and a method.
> 
> Please proceed with caution, I know we keep things a little irreverent around these parts but these brief mentions aren't a joke.

Shane’s episode of Unsolved turns out great and Ryan is overjoyed. The reception is mainly positive, the focus on Ryan’s own apartment proves to be a popular twist on the regular format. One of the best compliments is when he shows the episode to Shane and it has him doubling over at not only his own disembodied antics but the other segments as well. When Ryan asks him about it Shane just shrugs and tells him he loves the show, that it’s always been funny. Ryan feels himself practically glow with pride at Shane’s words. It’s one thing that the show is successful but another entirely to have it valued by the people close to you, to have your hard work acknowledged by the people that matter the most.

One of the best outcomes of the episode’s success is that it gets Shane excited to accompany them on location. Surprisingly, it isn’t hard to get Shane to agree to his ground rules and Shane seems enthusiastic about acting as the conduit between other spirits and his alive counterparts. Shane’s only prerequisite is that he won’t encourage spirits to interact if they obviously don’t want to and Ryan agrees wholeheartedly. Shane makes a point to mention that spirits probably like their privacy just as much as alive persons do and when you throw in the potentially tragic and gruesome circumstances of their deaths they might be more inclined to want to be left alone than to be bothered by a paranormal investigator and his ghost chaperone. It means that they likely won’t get much more evidence than they usually do on location but the new perspective certainly brings a new solemnity to his approach. Ryan has never been overtly disrespectful on a shoot but he knows it’ll make him keenly aware of his behaviour on set, he’s sort of glad that now he knows ghosts are definitely real he has one that he can take his cues from, a gentle soul that he knows wouldn’t do anything that he knew would genuinely upset any of the resident spirits.

This also poses the question of whether it’s fair that they enter these spirits’ abodes and don’t try to help them somehow. Ryan becomes adamant that he will do his best to help the ghosts they might come into contact with, pass on. Shane is hesitant about this plan at best. Threatens to refuse to accompany them at worst. It’s the first time Ryan has seen him look truly scared and it shakes him, unnerves him. Being dead, Ryan supposes that Shane doesn’t have a whole lot to be afraid of anymore but something about Ryan’s determination to save lost souls has him terrified.

“I didn’t want to say this because I didn’t want to freak you out anymore than you already get when you go on location.” Shane says, pacing back and forth in the living room. It’s the night before they leave for their first shoot together and they’re both too anxious about it to sleep. “Too late.” Ryan says, watching him from where he’s perched on the edge of the couch, knee bouncing anxiously. Shane frowns at him, looking much too serious so Ryan elects to stay quiet. “I don’t think playing apparition agony aunt is a good idea.” He says in a rush, words cascading over themselves like rapids over rocks. “Shane, we talked about this.” Ryan sighs exasperated.

“I know and I know you’re just so goddamn _kind_ so you’re probably not gonna listen to me anyway.”

“Damn tootin’”

“Ryan.” Shane says simply, his voice low. He’s stopped pacing now and stands with his arms folded across his chest. His eyes bore into Ryan’s own and it’s the first time Ryan’s thought of his ghostly companion as anything close to imposing. Shane stands resolute, almost solid and stupidly tall and his gaze broaches no argument. “I’m serious. You- you’ve got this idea into your head and it’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Shane c’mon.” Ryan says but the rigidity in Shane’s form is foreign to him, how concern and fear seem to roll off of him like waves slamming into shore. Shane makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and casts his eyes upward as if he’s trying to appeal to a higher power to help him convince him.

“We don’t know what they’re capable of. I mean take me for example, I’m a lot stronger than I was, I mean I can’t physically touch you but I can interfere with your equipment, move things, _throw things_. These guys have probably been around a lot longer than me, who knows what they can do.” Shane frets, waving his arms around wildly as if it helped to emphasise his point.

“So what are you saying Shane? Are you saying the ghosts are gonna try and murk me? I’ve done this before Shane and I’ve yet to be murdered.” Ryan replies, increasingly frustrated but Shane remains unmoved, in fact he just looks more concerned.

“And when, on your quest to save their sorry souls, they ask you to do something that you just can’t? How do we handle that, or worse, how do we handle that if _they_ don’t handle it well?”

“You said the word 'handle' way too much there.” Ryan says, unable to stop himself.

“For the love of _God_ shut up Ryan.” Shane replies abruptly, the words a little too sharp.

“Sorry. Sorry look _okay._ ” He says running a hand through his hair. “All I’m saying is that you’ve never had the opportunity to get this close to spirits before. Their reactions are totally unpredictable. We don’t even know if it’ll just be spirits we might stumble across.” Ryan shivers. Put bluntly the risks do seem a lot greater than they ever have before.

“Demons?” He says quietly and he knows how he must look, eyes wide with the dawning realisation that his job may have gotten considerably more dangerous. Shane laughs nervously. “Shit I don’t know?” He says shrugging, finally, _finally_ taking a seat next to Ryan on the couch now that he can see Ryan is taking him somewhat seriously. “Part of me still wants to call bullsht on the whole demon thing but I thought ghosts were bullshit and well look at me now.” He gestures to himself with a lopsided smile that has one of Ryan’s own twitching at the corner of his mouth. He takes a deep breath and leans back against the couch cushions, mirroring Shane’s position and staring up at the ceiling. “So what do you propose we do?”

“I don’t suppose you can be convinced to quit your job?” Shane says but Ryan knows it isn’t a serious suggestion.

“Nope.” He replies, popping the ‘p’ just to be a little obnoxious and try and shake away the creeping anxiety.

“I mean you could just go with Brent?” This time it’s a serious suggestion but Ryan gets the feeling that if he were to agree to it then Shane would still be disappointed. “I mean Brent is still gonna be there but I want you to be there too Shane and I know you really do wanna hang out with some other ghouls. But you’re your own ghost Madej.”

“Fuck.”

“Guess we’ll just have to be careful.”

 

* * *

 

“I fail to see how telling the ghost of a murderer that he’s an asshole is being careful Shane.” Ryan hisses that night at 3AM from where he sits next to his idiot of a friend on the second floor landing of the old house they’re investigating. Shane just shrugs with a grin. “Eh he couldn’t hurt anyone, not now anyway.” He says far too casually for someone who had not hours prior had an ‘altercation’ with a literal murderer.

“How the fuck would you know?” Ryan whispers loudly. Shane looks far too relaxed for someone who was essentially telling Ryan to quit his job lest he be attacked on location by a malevolent spirit and frankly, he’s pissed about it. “Turns out I can pick up the ‘vibes’ of spirits too.” He says nonchalantly, looking vaguely smug. “I mean Mr Murderer had a lot of hate in him but as far as power is concerned? You’d barely feel more than a cool breeze.”

“Are you getting a kick out of being a more powerful ghost than a murderer?” Ryan asks incredulously and Shane has the decency to look at least a little sheepish. “And wait, _had_? He _had_ a lot of hate in him?”

“Surprise! New ghost perk!”

“What are you like an exorcist now or something?” Shane shakes his head but his eyes light up in a way that gives the impression that he loves that idea. “No I think some of us just need a little nudge toward the other side. He’d been knocking around for a while, barely much of a soul left here. A few threats and he vanished.” He leans back against a grimy wall, arms crossed.

“How does a ghost threaten another ghost anyway?” Ryan quizzes almost challenging him but Shane is infuriatingly nonchalant about the whole affair. “So far as I can tell we interact just like we’re alive. It’s only the living we can’t seem to influence directly. We can’t really touch you.” Shane ponders, eyes wandering around their derelict surroundings like he’s seeing it for the first time. It may not be the first time he’s seeing the decaying abode but it may be the first time he’s truly paid attention to it. Shane has been a ball of energy all day, nervous excitement causing him to continuously run his mouth and bound about full of almost childish curiosity when he’d caught the first sign of another presence lingering in the house.

Ryan is endlessly fascinated by what Shane can tell him about interacting with the other spirits and feels incredibly privileged to be taking this journey into the unknown with Shane by his side. “I can feel you, sort of. Like the first time we went to Walmart.” Ryan says, his words stilted. He selfishly wants to know more about how all this works but knows that Shane isn’t necessarily a fount of unending knowledge about supernatural matters either. The majority of what Shane knows is from experience alone.

Shane avoids his eyes and Ryan thinks that he can see the faintest hue of pink staining his cheeks in the grey light. “Really?” He says with a small, vulnerable smile, looking almost hopeful. “Yeah it was this soft warm pressure against my cheek.” He says bringing up his palm to press it against his face in an imitation of how Shane had done, flat on his back on the asphalt. Shane follows the movement with a look of longing. “I couldn’t feel anything.” He says quietly, voice hitching in the middle and he coughs, an obvious attempt to disguise it that Ryan isn’t falling for. “Not really.”

“Not really?” Ryan prompts and Shane sighs.

“It’s like when you can see your hand in the dark. You’re not really seeing it but your brain thinks well it must be somewhere and fills in the gaps. I see my hand, touching - whatever - and my mind fills in the gaps. _This_ should feel soft,  _that_ should feel warm. Sometimes it’s almost real, when I’m tired or paying close attention. Sometimes, if I try too hard, it’s hard to dredge up any ‘shoulds’ at all and there’s just - nothing.” Shane attempts to explain and Ryan supposes it makes a lot of sense. Shane in actuality, is just a soul, a consciousness that simply manipulates whatever energy it can to manifest in or interact with the physical world. “That sounds horrible.” Ryan says and it sounds lame and lacking even to him.

“Worst thing about being dead besides the whole devastating your family and friends and having no future thing.” Shane replies dryly. The utterance of Shane’s name on an exhale is all Ryan can manage to get out without breaking and he wishes desperately that he could hug Shane, anything to give him comfort instead of words that always feel empty and inevitably fall flat.

As he is prone to Shane meets Ryan halfway and slackens the tension his lack of words has left behind. He laughs self-deprecatingly. “Sorry I need to stop doing that. I’m such a negative Nancy, a Debbie downer, a cynical Cyril, a despondent Dave.” How Shane manages to be self-deprecating whilst apologising for being self-deprecating Ryan will never fathom but it distracts him only momentarily from the most concerning part of Shane’s original revelation.

“So you mean they can’t hurt me but they could hurt you?” He asks and the prospect of any harm coming to Shane causes panic to flood his veins and he shivers, eyes briefly darting around the small landing as if spiritual threats hid in the mould riddled wallpaper. Well various respiratory diseases probably hid there, as good a threat as any. “They could. But we’re dead and we can’t die twice. There’s not a lot of point.” Shane remarks casually and they’re gonna have to talk about his blasé attitude towards his own personal safety. “Just promise me you won’t do or  _say_ anything stupid.” Ryan pleads and Shane grins mischievously but his gaze is so tender it incites in Ryan a sudden, stupid urge to kiss this ridiculous, nonsense fuelled man. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

 

* * *

 

“I told you to stay the fuck away from him.” Shane glowers at the figure looming over Ryan’s sleeping form. This guy is really testing Shane’s patience and it’s just his luck that on his first trip out with Ryan for Unsolved they run into the ghost of a murderer that just won’t quit. Seriously, why can’t he stop being all murder-y? He murdered some perfectly nice folk, folk he’s met who were lovely and definitely didn’t deserve to be killed, especially the seven-year-old girl. _Seven, for Christ’s sake!_ The image of that precious girl, the end of her pigtails matted in blood from where this monster had slit her throat will live with Shane forever. Thankfully, Shane had managed to help them all move on, watching them leave through a white door that hadn’t been there before, one he felt no similar draw toward. He’d watched as Sarah had taken the hands of her children, Ben and Lucy and lead them to what he hoped was freedom and _peace_. Together, forever. But this guy, this _James_ , has stuck around. He’s dead! He can’t even do any more murdering it’s time to stop, cease and desist.

“Oh down boy.” James remarks and Shane grits his teeth against a snarl. “Still playing guard dog for your boyfriend?” Shane rolls his eyes. _And you’re all bark and no bite_ he thinks wryly. “He doesn’t need guarding from the likes of you.” He says dismissively, settling serenely into a slowly disintegrating armchair close to where Ryan sleeps. It’s part bravado, the lackadaisical manner in which he leans back, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankle. He doesn’t think they’re in any real danger but he decides it’s probably best not to show any fear, just in case. James just smiles, crouching down beside Ryan’s prone body.

Shane’s mind screams at him to get him away, that he’s much too close but he stays seated, staring James down from his chair, daring him to see how far he can push him. He didn’t expect to be pulled into a game of cat and mouse with the soul of a murderer but Shane is quick, cunning when he wants, when the stakes are high. Ryan’s life is as about as high stakes as it can get. The threat is minuscule but it’s there and as the minutes tick by the tension mounts.

“Does he know?” James asks casually, tilting his head as he gazes down at Ryan still resting fitfully. Shane just raises an eyebrow. “Does he know you’re in love with him?” It takes everything within Shane to keep his gaze passive, eyes still trained on James’ form as he attempts to taunt him. He can feel a muscle in his jaw twitch but nothing else changes. Shane just wiggles his head around noncommittally. “Does he know you took your own life? That you’re a coward?” Shane barks out a laugh at that.

“Oh he definitely knows. I doubt there’s anything he doesn’t know at this point.” _Except that you’re in love with him_ , his mind supplies unhelpfully but this isn’t the time or the place. There never will be a time or place for such thoughts.

“You folks are no fun.” James drawls and he leans in close to Ryan and Shane feels bile rise in his throat as he reaches out a finger to brush across the apple of Ryan’s cheek. Ryan’s brow furrows and he shifts in his sleep. “Shane?” He mumbles as he rouses slightly but doesn’t open his eyes. “Fuck off.” Shane spits as he stalks over to them both. He’s done playing games. They have about an hour until sunrise.

“Rude.” Ryan mumbles, smiling slightly with his eyes still closed. James snorts but raises his arms in surrender backing away and returning to the bowels of the decrepit house.

“Shane?” Ryan murmurs a little louder, voice tinged with worry and Shane’s attention snaps back to him in an instant.

“Yeah baby- I mean buddy. It’s just me.” He whispers settling down to lie in front of where Ryan rests, cocooned in his sleeping bag. Brent snores away, dead to the world a few feet over. The cameras aren’t rolling and Shane knows Ryan will be able to pass it off as some kind of technical glitch. “Hi.” He says, voice muffled into his pillow as he blearily opens one eye. “Hey. Go back to sleep man, you’ve got another hour till dawn.” Shane says softly, eyes tracing the imprint his pillow has left on his cheek, the warm curl of his mouth into a small sleepy smile. “Okay.” He nods with a sigh and burrows deeper into his sleeping bag, drifting back to sleep.

Shane lays there for a moment. It’s indulgent and a little creepy but what Ryan doesn’t know won’t hurt him in this instance. He’s acutely aware of being watched but it makes little difference. He refuses to explain himself to a murderer, he’s dead and he has nothing to prove. Eventually he moves away, back to the armchair and it’s there he stays, alternating between watching Ryan and the doorway until the sun begins to rise.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else need a hug?
> 
> Thanks again for the stellar comments and those that continue to read this bananas bonanza I appreciate it. Also I see you folks from AO3 that have found your way to my tumblr, lil' lowkey internet stalking don't worry about it it.
> 
> Shoot the shit with me, gimme a prompt or yell at me about the communist manifesto on [tumblr](https://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/) if it yanks your chain!


	12. The Last Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would you do for the one you love? Necromancy and chill?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is all over the place pals so bear with.  
> Thank you for all the love and for everyone who's stuck with me this far!

Ryan doesn’t find out about Shane’s little white lie, or lies, and Shane really doesn’t want him to. The guilt does gnaw at him and although small, he feels as if the lies are building up. Ryan’s upturned palm on the couch between them feels like an invitation to tell the truth, to confess, but as he stares mindlessly at the TV he knows he just can’t do that to him. No good will come from telling him the truth about any of it; not that James didn’t in fact pass on or that when he had touched Ryan he’d felt jealousy burn so white hot within him it made him feel sick. Nothing would come from the truth but anger and anguish and fear. Shane never wants to be the cause of those things in Ryan.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” Ryan’s voice, quiet and deep with tiredness interrupts his reverie. He startles at the sound having been hyper aware of their positions on the couch but not paying enough attention to realise how much attention Ryan had been paying him. He shifts, curling up in his corner of the couch and leaning his head against the cushions. “Just wondering when Zack is gonna ask you out.” He says and curses himself. He definitely doesn’t want to have this conversation but it’s the first thing that came to mind and subsequently the words left his mouth without much thought. Ryan mirrors Shane’s position on the opposite end of the couch and rolls his eyes “I’m like 100% sure he’s straight dude.”

“Shame.” Shane hums and there goes another lie.

“You’re so fixated on him. Do you have a crush on him or something?” Ryan asks voice pitching up in annoyance in a way that makes Shane’s nonexistent heart beat rabbit quick in his empty chest. “Nah not my type.” Shane says waving a hand dismissively.

“Do you- I mean we haven’t had that conversation, about you.” Ryan stutters our awkwardly and Shane wishes he hadn’t gone down this path because having this conversation makes it seem like it even matters, that romance is even possible for him now. “If this is your way of asking what team I bat for the answer is I was bi dude.”

“Was?” Ryan raises an eyebrow.

“Doesn’t really have a whole lot of impact now that I’m dead.” Shane shrugs.

“But-” Ryan frowns. He looks frustrated, desperate and Shane struggles to comprehend why he fucking cares so much “You still have feelings Shane.”

“Debatable.”

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit Shane! I saw you with Lucy. I couldn’t see her but I could see you. You were distraught but trying so hard to make her smile, to make her happy.” Ryan says and Shane realises he really hasn’t been giving Ryan enough credit for how perceptive he can be.

Shane hadn’t wanted to scare either of them but it seems as though he’d been unable to hide the sheer anguish he had felt when he met Lucy. She was such a lovely and vibrant little girl and to be confronted by the visage of her, in her bloodied sundress was one of the most devastating things Shane has ever experienced. The thought that she had had her future forcibly taken from her. It was an onslaught of emotion that had him fighting tooth and nail to keep smiling, for her sake and as he knew Ryan was watching him interact with her, for his sake too. The ache in his chest when she took his hand and lead him toward her mother and brother was all consuming. Family, was something he left behind. That moment was the closest he’d ever get to knowing what it’s like to have a kid of his own. As he watched them pass through the white door, together and hand in hand, he simply wanted to collapse and it was the first time he was tempted to find his own white door. But then there was Ryan. Ryan who couldn’t see any of it but somehow knew what was happening, tears falling fast and hot and he knew then and there that for as long as Ryan should live Shane wasn’t going anywhere.

“Can you just-” Shane wants to raise his voice but the thought of it makes him cringe and instead he can feel his whole body attempting to shrink “can you stop yelling Ryan Jesus I’m sorry.” Ryan immediately softens looking apologetic. He reaches out a hand and Shane knows without a doubt that it _is_ an invitation. He accepts, just this time, and shakily curls his hand around Ryan’s own as best he can, even going so far as to lazily try to entwine their fingers. The sight of it makes him want to cry.

“It’s too much.” He says and then pauses and tries to take a deep breath “I don’t know how else to describe it. The idea of letting myself feel like that, like you, it ultimately serves no purpose and it hurts. I’m sorry I just- it’s too much.” He shakes his head and feels nausea rise in him, acknowledging the pointlessness of his existence fills him with an emptiness at odds with how much he still feels. It’s a feedback loop, his form trapping him in thoughts and feelings with no means of release or escape. The only release is talking to Ryan and Allie but they’re living lives fraught with their own trials and tribulations. Shane witnesses first hand Ryan’s stress, his proclivity for nightmares and erratic sleep. Not much has changed since his death in the sense he still abhors being a burden. So he keeps these baseless, directionless feelings to himself.

“Don’t apologise.” Ryan says and Shane catches how his hand contracts around his own and imagines he can feel him squeezing it. “You didn’t deserve that. I was being selfish. We’re different people I don’t have the right to dictate how you feel.”

“That’s a very mature and astute conclusion Ry, thanks.” Shane teases and Ryan’s hand unfurls from his own so that he can hit him. Shane doesn’t feel that either as his hand passes through his shoulder, but he flinches just the same.

 

* * *

 

Ryan wakes up in darkness to the sound of music and laughter. He’s somewhat surprised that it hasn’t also caused Brent to stir but since Shane has started tagging along on trips for Unsolved he’s glad that his co host sleeps like the dead. He sits up in his sleeping bag, palms scraping against the splintering hardwood floor as he hauls himself to his feet. The laughter rings out loud and clear and he can feel himself smile at the unmistakable sound. He tugs his jacket tighter around him, the old school is draughty and the late fall air whistles in practically unhindered. He switches his flashlight on, brandishing its beam like a shield. The echo of crackling music is eerie as he walks through the deserted corridors of the school and the high vaulted ceilings of its hallways make it difficult to locate where exactly the sound is coming from. He feels his heartbeat quicken in his chest as he makes his way up a dilapidated staircase, following the crooning voice that sounds like it’s playing on an old turntable. He still hates wandering around these places, even with Shane as his eyes and ears. The fact that he still can’t see the spirits that inhabit the often old and decaying buildings puts him on edge, jumping at every sound.

Shane’s laugh rings out like a siren’s call as he rounds a corner and he can see him through a row of windows, panels cracked and some missing glass entirely. He’s giggling and dancing in the dimly lit room, a small record player scratching out the sound of Fred Astaire. It’s a strange but endearing sight as he enters what seems to be an old ballet studio through a heavy wooden door. If it weren’t for the screeching of its hinges Ryan doubts Shane would’ve noticed him.

“Oh is this him?” A voice sounds over the music. It makes him jump but it’s Shane who chuckles bashfully and he stops dancing almost immediately, taking a step backwards, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah um this is Ryan. Ryan this is Ms Bauduccio, she was a dance teacher here at the academy.” He gestures to the empty space beside him and Ryan stares at the air until the faintest outline of a slender woman becomes visible. “What a handsome young man!” She says delightedly and she walks toward him reaching out for his hands. He takes them, as best he can and follows as she walks backward, toward Shane. “It’s lovely to meet you Ryan! Shane has been telling me so much about you.”

“Has he now?” He says, side eyeing Shane and watching the flush creep across his cheeks. “All good I hope?” Ms Bauduccio seems to flicker at that and suddenly Ryan can see her a lot clearer. She is young, with long blonde hair pulled up into a high ponytail. She’s dressed simply in a plain black leotard and mid-length tulle skirt that sways with her every graceful movement. “Nothing but love from this guy!” She says cheerfully and punches Shane in the arm. “That’s... Nice.” He says, looking up at Shane who’s staring at the ceiling looking as though he wants to float right through it and disappear.

Ms Bauduccio gasps, clapping her hands together and clutching onto both of their arms as if something amazing has just occurred to her. The casual touch from a ghost startles Ryan and it makes him wonder why Shane is so hesitant when it comes to reaching out for him when Ms Bauduccio seems to be able to do so without a second thought. “You two are so precious!” She all but squeals and Ryan is very confused. He glances at Shane for some indication as to what the fuck is going on but he sheepishly avoids his gaze. “You must dance!” She exclaims and Ryan immediately starts to protest. “Oh no I- I don’t know how I-” Ryan tries but she just shakes her head vehemently.

“Nonsense! Shane is an excellent dancer. We will teach you!” She adds and practically glides over to the record player in the corner of the room to start the song over.

He glances up at Shane again but this time catches him gazing at him searchingly. He swallows. “May I have this dance?” He asks, bowing over exaggeratedly and holding out a hand to him. He winks at him with an impish grin that makes him feel dizzy. Ryan doesn’t protest any further, doesn’t let himself feel stupid or embarrassed. He takes Shane’s hand, his other coming to rest on his shoulder and steps closer.

It’s awkward at first. Shane’s hold on him is tenuous at best and he tries his best to concentrate on Ms Bauduccio’s instruction whilst his head is filled with _Shane, Shane, Shane_. After a while though they fall into a rhythm, swaying and turning through the vast space, moonlight streaming in from the arched windows as the music plays on. He catches sight of them in the mottled mirrors lining the walls and laughs, causing Shane to follow his gaze. Only Ryan’s reflection looks back at them, creepily moving alone across the dusty floor. “How very Van Helsing.” Shane says, low and quiet right beside his ear. Ryan shivers and steps closer, feeling warmth where their chests brush. He feels the same familiar tingle of warmth bloom over the majority of the small of his back like a large palm has slid from his waist to rest there and hold him closer. “Except you’re not a vampire.” Ryan points out and Shane chuckles. Ryan imagines he can feel it rumbling through his chest.

“I wish I was that’d be way cooler.” Shane says offhandedly.

“Except for the whole drinking blood thing.” Ryan adds wrinkling his nose.

“Except for that.” He says and Ryan feels warmth spread briefly up his spine until it settles back at the base again.

He could stay like this forever, in the vague warmth of Shane’s embrace. They’re doing little more than swaying together now but Ryan never wants it to end. Much of Shane’s usual hesitance or bravado is gone and there is something serene and vulnerable about him. He glances upward and meets Shane’s gaze, his eyes dancing with something unreadable. He opens his mouth to speak but a loud slam interrupts him and nothing but an embarrassing squeak leaves him. His head whips toward the sound and at the opposite end of the room is a white door, closed and quickly fading from view.

“Oh” Shane breathes out and he smiles at Ryan. “I guess she just wanted to teach one last dance class.” He wraps his arms around Ryan tentatively and Ryan feels as though he’s being draped in a blanket. “She’s moved on?” Ryan asks quietly, suddenly feeling very tired.

“Yeah buddy. Just a big ol’ door to walk through to the other side. I’m happy for her, she was nice.”

“Yeah she was.” Ryan mumbles. They stand like that in silence for a long time and Ryan feels safer than he’s ever felt in a haunted location. So far as they know the school is now empty, the last soul released having saved her last dance for Shane and Ryan.

 

* * *

 

The trip back to LA is a long and quiet one. Shane can’t often stay longer than one night with them when they’re far away from the apartment, the energy draining from him quicker with every mile between him and home. He’s slightly relieved that Shane had left them that morning, as the night before has left Ryan reeling.

He’s in love with a ghost. That sounds like a poetic turn of phrase you’d find in some trashy novel about unrequited love but in his case it’s literal. He is literally in love with a ghost. He comes to the conclusion after spending the entire journey to the airport thinking about ways to deny it. Inevitably none of them work and when he thinks about everything, from the moment they met to the fact they shared a slow dance to Fred Astaire in the moonlit dance studio of a beautiful school building, grandiose and elegant even as the ceiling and floors began to buckle it’s so fucking obvious that that’s what this is. It’s been one big dance, a push and pull of things left unsaid, furtive glances and the ghost of touch. There is little euphoria in the revelation because the fact that the love of Ryan’s life has lost his own kind of puts a wrench in things.

But Ryan Bergara is not a quitter. When he finally makes it back home he takes the stairs two at a time up to the second floor and knocks on the door. When it swings open he’s immediately welcomed with a hug and Allie’s warm smile. “Hey Ryan! What’re you doing here? Did you just get back?” Ryan nods bouncing on his toes, body thrumming with excitement and determination.

“Hi Allie. Yeah I just got back. What do you know about necromancy?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the smell of necromancy in the morning.
> 
> Thanks for all the love folks, drop me a line on [tumblr](https://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/) and we'll discuss breakfast cereals, how to actually play uno and maybe this fic if you want but we'll probably talk about cereal.


	13. Necromancy and Chill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotta love those (dead) boyfriend sweaters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had a hell of a last couple of days and writing this little jaunt into the occult is starting to feel like coming home.
> 
> I'd like to preface this chapter that I have done some research but I've taken some liberties with how necromancy usually goes down. A friendly reminder that not all necromantic, occultist or any witchcraft or magick practices are inherently evil. These practices come from longstanding traditions and deeply entrenched cultural and historical roots and their real life incarnations should be respected like any other belief system. Now I'm a big ol' skeptic and I don't believe but I have a great love of folklore and history and I urge anyone actually interested in these practices to just go do some reading.
> 
> That being said I hope you dig this chapter, thank you for all the love so far!
> 
>  **Trigger warnings:** There's a brief mention of cannibalism but it's a throw away comment and there's no actual cannibalising but better to be safe than sorry ya know?

Ryan is starting to get increasingly concerned that his internet history has earned him a spot on a government watch list of some description. Between his research for Unsolved and his new found interest in necromancy and the occult his search history is probably a cause for concern for some government operative somewhere. Thankfully, Shane seems nonplussed by it and that’s really all that matters, his usual exploits bizarre enough so as to not arouse too much suspicion. Ryan tries not to think about what Shane’s reaction might be if he were to find out what he was planning. So he works under the assumption that what Shane doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

The one big flaw in the plan is that Ryan has no idea what he’s doing and Allie seems only a little more knowledgeable. There is no one way to raise the dead it seems, rituals run the gamut from humming and grunting over a naked flame of some sort to running around at night dressed in the deceased’s clothing and mutilating and consuming a corpse. Ryan figures he’ll just wing it and work his way up. He loves the guy but he’s gotta be getting desperate before he starts chowing down on some dead person’s rotting flesh for Shane Madej.

He picks up pieces of information here and there, some of it not even related to returning Shane to the realm of the living. He learns about magic and energies and about other planes of existence, of gods and goddesses and beings of power beyond his comprehension. He struggles to understand it all and has an even harder time believing any of it is even remotely legit. He acknowledges anything is possible, must do as he collects items and incantations with the sole intention of following through, of at least trying. But the niggling fear of what happens if it doesn’t work overwhelms him. When he lies alone at night, turning the still unburnt candle he’d bought that night from Walmart round and round in his hands, his mind flies apart with the notion that he might not be able to bring Shane back. They’ll be stuck in this limbo forever, until Shane finally passes on. When that day comes all Ryan will be left with are a couple of episodes of Unsolved, a candle and a single photograph. Meagre memories of a love that never was.

Shane has made him as soft and soggy with feelings as a wet blanket. He shuffles out of his room and into the living room where Shane lies with his eyes closed, his head tilted back against the armrest. His hands rest, their fingers interlocked, on his stomach as it rises and falls slowly as if he’s sleeping. He wants to kneel beside him, brush the stray strand of his messy hair from his forehead, kiss him awake and tell him to go to bed. He doesn’t do any of that. He simply flexes his hand around the cold glass of the candle he still holds and turns around, walking back into the darkness of his bedroom and the emptiness of his bed.

 

* * *

 

He’s got the candles, he’s got the chalk and the salt and the books and his photograph. He’s got pretty much everything he needs to do some necromancing or whatever. Everything except something of Shane’s. Allie doesn’t have anything that had belonged to Shane, only the photographs of him that she’s graciously let him borrow for the sake of bringing him back to them. It leaves him with no option but to ask Shane himself but he’s incredibly unhelpful. “So where did all your stuff go?” Ryan asks him casually one day as Shane sits curled up on the couch squinting at a book. Apparently being dead doesn’t fix your eyesight. Shane just shrugs. “I guess it either got thrown out or my family took it.” He says without looking up from his book. Ryan leaves him to it, not wanting to disturb him too much or raise his suspicions with further questions.

The problem is, the majority of sources state that an item belonging to the deceased must be utilised in order to at least summon their spirit. Shane no longer has any of his earthly possessions because he no longer really has any need for them. And then it hits him. The candle, Pink Sands. Ryan had gifted it to Shane at the little death day party they’d thrown him as a joke and he’d given him the candle he’d been so fond of from Walmart as a present. That belonged to Shane. But would it be enough? To cover all his bases and test out this magic of questionable moral leanings he decides to enlist some help.

He drives out to some scrubland on the outskirts of L.A alone and curses himself for being an idiot and also for managing to fall in love with an idiot because he’s going to stumble around in the dark and ‘disquiet the dead’ just for him. Never let it be said that Ryan Bergara isn’t a goddamn romantic. He draws his salt circle carefully and settles himself within it, trying not to let his hands shake as he places his candles strategically in the beam of his flashlight. He burns a specially concocted incense, places it directly in front of him and waits. He resists the urge to peer too intently into the darkness, tries to keep his mind from unravelling itself, to remain steady in the face of the unknown.

Half an hour passes and nothing changes. He isn’t prepared to give up, he’ll remain where he is until day break, even though every minute longer he stays the greater the risk of Shane growing suspicious of his absence or God forbid actually catching him in the act of him summoning another spirit. As if sensing his anxiety the air suddenly chills, the candles flickering almost pointedly once to the left and then to the right. Ryan digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands and speaks.

“Hello?” He says, voice deceptively steady as he scans the darkness. Slowly, a figure comes into view. Slender and small, a woman steps forward into the candle light. Her clothes are worn and ragged, twigs and leaves are caught in her short curly hair and there’s mud streaked across her button nose. “Why did you ask me here?” She asks, looking at him warily with her arms crossed, unimpressed. “I’m sorry to disturb your rest.” Ryan replies respectfully and the woman nods at him in forgiveness. “I seek the knowledge of the dead and ask that they do my bidding on this one small occasion.” The woman laughs, not with malice but with genuine mirth.

“Jeez dude there’s no need to be so formal about it. My name is Alex by the way.” She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her jeans and rocks back on the balls of her feet. “Oh okay.” Ryan chuckles nervously, somewhat disarmed but unwilling to let his guard down. “Sorry I’m not really used to this. I’m Ryan.”

“First time talking to dead folk?” Alex asks candidly and Ryan shakes his head.

“No? Oh boy someone’s getting in too deep.” She adds, surprised and ever so slightly disapproving.

“You can say that again.” Ryan mutters.

“Oooh okay, okay! _Now_ you have me intrigued! What do you need?” She asks leaning forward in curiosity.

“I need items. Personal items of another dead person. I read that summoned spirits can sometimes do that.” Ryan says, matter of fact and to the point. “You read correctly but that’s usually for...”

“Reanimation, or in some cases, ‘returning the soul to a physical form’ I know.”

“That’s risky business buddy.”

“It’s all risky business.” He says and she nods in agreement before staring off into the distance for a moment. She steps a little closer to Ryan’s circle and sits down on the ground, mirroring Ryan’s crossed legged position. “Well I’m gonna need the whole story here. Including all the juicy details. It’s the least you can do in return for this ghostly favour.” She says clapping her hands together excitedly like she’s about to hear the best gossip of her afterlife.

So Ryan tells her everything. He starts at the beginning, from moving into the apartment, and the strange goings on to his first encounter with Shane. He tells her about becoming his friend and sometimes wishing he was at home with Shane instead of out with his other friends or wanting him to be there with them all, of how many times he’s thought about dating him, holding his hand, kissing him, loving him. When he tells her that he loves Shane tears are rolling down her scratched and dirtied cheeks and part of him feels bad but the other part feels relief, as he feels tears of his own slip free. It’s cathartic to be able to tell someone outside of it all, someone who doesn’t know them, the whole story, the whole truth without worrying about revealing too much or sounding insane.

“Of course it’s about a boy.” She says sniffling. She rolls her eyes with a small smile and Ryan laughs wetly. “You got a picture? Gotta make sure he’s right.” She says and Ryan pulls the polaroid of Shane in their apartment out of his pocket and presents it to her. Alex scrutinises it for a while, eyes flicking briefly from the photo to Ryan and then back again. She leans back on her hands and with a grin announces. “He’ll do. Looks kind and goofy, I can dig it.”

“Spot on. You’re an excellent judge of character.” She makes a face as if that much is obvious and smiles so wide Ryan can’t help but grin back at her. “Alright.” She says getting to her feet and dusting off her knees. “So Shane...” Ryan nods.

“Shane Madej yeah.”

“Alright. I’ll see what I can find of Shane’s and I’ll leave it here two nights from now okay?”

“Yes, perfect, thank you, thank you so much Alex.” Ryan says earnestly standing up inside the circle. Alex smiles at him softly.

“No problem Ryan. It was nice meeting you. I hope you get your man.” She turns and walks away, fading with every step until she’s gone entirely. “Goodbye.” He says quietly and snuffs out the candles one by one. The incense has long since burnt away and he places all the materials back in his bag before finally stepping out of the salt circle and clearing it away.

The night has gone as well as he could have possibly hoped and he feels both dread and excitement bubble up within him at being one step closer to potentially bringing Shane back. He walks quickly back to the car, the dark and quiet nature of the patch of unkempt land is terrifying and just because one encounter with a spirit tonight has gone well doesn’t mean he can’t have another, less pleasant experience. He drives home in silence. Sneaking quietly through the front door and across the living room. He pauses in the hallway for a second watching Shane where he’s lying once again on the couch, ‘sleeping’. He wonders if Shane knows Ryan can see him now, even in the state Shane often refers to as feeling like he’s just a floating brain. He knows that Shane can still see him and hear him in his current state but Ryan also knows that a lot of what he perceives whilst ‘sleeping’ doesn’t really register, like a dream that’s half forgotten. Ryan knows Shane can’t dream anymore but he does sort of day dream, actively imagines scenarios in place of what his brain would’ve made up while he rests. He’s often asked him what he imagines in those instances but Shane always refuses to answer.

As Ryan tiptoes into his bedroom, shucking off his clothes and crawling into bed he wonders if the things Shane imagines are anything like Ryan’s own dreams. With the lengths Ryan is going to to help him live again he really hopes they are.

 

* * *

 

Ryan returns two nights later as specified, the hand that grips his flashlight shaking in equal parts excitement and fear. It’s colder tonight and he wraps his free arm around himself as he trudges through the overgrowth to the patch of cleared ground he’d drawn his circle on before. He doesn’t remember it’s exact location so stumbles and almost brains himself on a rocky outcrop as he trips over something lying on the floor. Righting himself carefully he shines his light onto what he’d tripped on and immediately crouches next to the bundle of fabric. Cautiously he unwraps it to reveal a grey beanie and a pair of clear framed glasses both wrapped up in a grey sweater. Ryan recognises the glasses immediately as the ones worn by Shane at Allie’s birthday party but the hat and sweater are unfamiliar but easily enough owned by Shane. He’d expected something more distinctive, something more obviously _Shane’s_ but the nature of the item doesn’t matter. As long as it’s Shane’s it'll do. Carefully, like he’s handling sacred treasures, he stows them all in his backpack. He glances around the clearing anxiously before whispering a quiet thank you to the cool breeze that whips through the brush. He hopes that Alex can somehow hear him and that she’s somehow at rest.

He’s getting fidgety, restless. He wants so badly to just _do it_ already but these things apparently take precision, there is a right time and a right way and Ryan certainly doesn’t want to take any unnecessary risks. _Christ_ , everything he’s planning is risky. There is a multitude of things that can go wrong and Ryan is far from an expert in these things. He’s got to be sure. He’s got to be ready. He shoulders his bag and retraces his steps back to where he’d left the car. He mentally checks and rechecks the list of preparations and precautions he’s made and is still yet to make on the drive home. He’s so preoccupied with figuring out the optimal necromancing set up that he doesn’t even notice Shane waiting up for him on the couch, book in hand and watching him as he bustles toward his bedroom.

Ryan dumps his bag on the bed, shrugging out of his jacket as he gets down to the task of moving the collection of belongings to the draw of his nightstand where he keeps everything he’s gathered for the impending ritual. He lets himself linger over each possession, feeling the soft cotton of the grey sweater and resisting the urge to bury his face in it and be a big creepy creep. “Hey Ryan are you...” Shane’s voice sounds from the fucking _open_ doorway and Ryan’s heart leaps into his throat. Shane’s eyes dart from the sweater in Ryan’s hands to the contents of his bag spilling out onto the bed sheets and back again. His gaze settles on the clear framed glasses resting near Ryan’s pillows, his expression unreadable. “Shane I-I can explain I-” Ryan rushes out, dropping the sweater as if it had burned him. Shane tears his eyes away from the frames to stare at him, he crosses his arms and lifts his chin. “Then you better start talking.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh someone's in trouble!
> 
> Thanks for joining me into our first foray into the mystical arts. Nothing like some raising the dead to, ya know, raise the dead. Swing by my [tumblr](https://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/) and say hi and you can tell me jokes and i'll laugh and we'll fall in love.
> 
> A Ghoul's Guide now has a playlist! Created by the lovely [@ranebowstitches](https://ranebowstitches.tumblr.com/) you can find an 8tracks and a spoofy (as i like to call it) link as well as the track list [here](https://ranebowstitches.tumblr.com/post/171314369352/a-ghouls-guide-to-life-death-afterliving-a) we are truly blessed with some bangers on this day.


	14. Devil-may-care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There ain't no party like a necromancy party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again buddy ol' pal. Welcome to the shit show aka how badly can you fuck up necromancy? CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT.

 

Shane is beyond angry. He can feel it seething underneath his skin, roiling through his blood, scorching, scalding him from the inside out. He’s gotta hand it to Ryan, he’s still managed to surprise him. Initially Shane has been pissed with the sneaking around, c’mon sneaking out at ridiculous o’clock in the morning? What is he, his mother? Someone he doesn’t want to catch him sneaking out to rendezvous with his sweetheart? Shane is pissed because there was something Ryan didn’t trust him with. Shane is pissed because Ryan clearly thought he was stupid enough not to fucking notice.

There is something about overt secrecy that has always rubbed Shane up the wrong way. Sneaking around, whispering, he’s a timid man and he’d rather deal with a threat head on than wait for it to sneak up on him. He doesn’t like living looking over his shoulder, hell even surprise parties were a nightmare, unpredictable to an uncomfortable degree, and then all that sudden attention? It’s not usually his idea of a good time. No Shane likes the lights turned on, everybody's hands where he can see them.

Ryan sneaking around? It hurts. It feels like a betrayal. A darker, more visceral part of him makes him wonder how Ryan thought he’d ever get away with it. Especially something like this.

“Those are my things.” He says bluntly. They’re his, even though they could naturally belong to anyone else, he just knows they’re his. “Why do you have them? Or no no no, better yet,  _how_ do you have them?”

“These aren’t...” Ryan starts.

“Don’t.” Shane interrupts sharply. “Don’t even think about trying to lie Ryan just tell me.”

“I-” Ryan stalls, his eyes wide. He looks as though he doesn’t quite know what to do, suddenly seeming much smaller than usual in the dim light of the lamp at his bedside. “I got them from a spirit I asked for help.” He says but he doesn’t elaborate any further. He takes a deep breath and returns Shane’s gaze, something fierce burgeoning in his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I need them.” He replies defensively. He looks twitchy, frustrated, as if Shane is keeping him from something important.

“ _Why?_ ” He repeats.

“Because I’m trying to bring you back okay!” Ryan bursts out and suddenly he’s a flurry of movement. He drags out the draw at the bottom of his bedside table and upturns it onto his bed, its contents spilling across it noisily. The draw itself crashes to the ground, breaking on impact and scratching the wooden floor. Shane flinches but takes a faltering step closer.

Scattered amongst his own belongings is a strange assortment of items and trinkets, books and boxes, candles and small gauze pouches that seem to contain anything from stones to plants and herbs. Amongst the chaos he catches the bright pink of his candle peeking out from the mess. Ryan hadn’t asked him for it but there it is. He really is serious about this. Serious enough to sneak around. Serious enough to try to lie. Serious enough to steal.

“I’m sorry what?” He asks incredulously. He marches over to the bed, ignores what appears to be a fucking grimoire and snatches up his candle, clenching his fist around it as best he can. “You’re trying to what?” He asks angrily like he can’t believe what he’s hearing except he can, he so painfully can because it’s happening and of course it is because it’s _Ryan_. The idea sends fear coursing through him until he shakes with it and the panicked look in Ryan’s eyes tells him he’s started flickering again. “I’m sorry, Shane look I know I should’ve asked you...”

“Should’ve asked- Yeah oh hey Shane how would you feel about me dabbling in the occult and fucking around with the devil to raise you from the dead?” His voice is slowly climbing in volume and he just can’t seem to stop it. Ryan watches warily, nervous but determined and God that makes it worse because now they have to fight and Shane hates fighting with Ryan. He can tease him and bicker with him till the end of days but actually fight? Each word that leaves his mouth, bitter and sharp in the heat of the moment breaks his heart.

“I don’t want to live like this anymore.” Ryan says bluntly and it hurts Shane like a punch to the chest. It aches and tears through him until it’s hard to breathe. “I’m sorry.” He rasps out and moves quickly to put his candle on Ryan’s dresser before it slips from his grasp. Every fear he’s had about being in Ryan’s life is suddenly being realised, hemming him in from all sides at a rapid pace, suffocating him. “I don’t want you to live like this either.” He chokes out, and the anger that had coiled itself tightly around his terror releases its grip and all he feels is cold and scared. “Look at us. Look at you. You’ve barely slept. Going God knows where in the middle of the night? Alone? And now you tell me you’re fucking with all this- this stuff that could potentially kill you? And for what?”

“For you, idiot!” Ryan says stepping forward and trying to grab Shane’s hand that continues to flicker in and out of view. He lets out a growl of frustration when Shane refuses to humour him. “Because I’m getting fucking tired of not being able to just hold your stupid hand Shane.”

The words seem to echo in the small space but they barely register. He has denied everything about what they could be since the beginning, it’s safer for his sanity and it’s fairer on Ryan. Shane refuses to hold him back. “ _I_ did this.” He says, index finger jabbing violently into his own chest. “ _I_ cut my life short. _I_ did this. Not knowing what I might see or learn or who I might meet the next day or the next week, month or year. There’s always something, it’s just out of sight. Believing there is something else is so hard but if I’d-" he chokes on his words, his voice thick with tears “if I’d stayed I could’ve met you, alive and breathing. I could hang out with you outside of this shitty apartment complex and meet your friends and Jake and fuck- I could be a part of your life like I was so many others. God I’ve never wished for anything more.”

His breathing sounds loud to his own ears, heart beat racing so fast he’s afraid it’ll trip and stop altogether. He feels as though he’s been waiting for it to since he died but it never has even though it’s no longer with him. Shane is not the kind of sap to wax poetic about giving away his heart but he thinks it’s cruel he can’t even think such things without realising his is either six feet under or burnt to cinders and scattered to the winds. He watches with tear blurred vision as Ryan sits heavily on his bed, reaching for Shane’s jumper and pulling it into his lap. A small circle of darker grey appears on it as he sniffs, spreading briefly like ink on paper. “You don’t have to wish. It’ll work I know it will.” He says, fierce and bold, his dark eyes shine as he looks at Shane beseechingly. That look, those dark eyes, destroy him and he crumbles, bending to Ryan’s unwavering will. Shane sighs and takes a seat next to him on the bed, feeling drained.

“If it doesn’t work-” He starts.

“If it doesn’t work we carry on, just like this. But you deserve a life again Shane. I know you think you don’t for a multitude of reasons you could list to me right now but I’m telling you, _you do_.” Ryan replies, adamant and sure. There are risks, Shane knows and the idea of Ryan taking those risks for him makes him feel ill. He also knows that Ryan is no idiot, he’s smart and proactive. He’ll have done his research and taken every available precaution to protect them both. He is already beyond the point of no return and had been long before Shane had even discovered his plan.

“I don’t deserve you.” Shane says quietly, reaching out with a shaking, flickering hand and closing his eyes as he feels the faint pressure he’s come to associate with Ryan’s touch. “You don’t get to decide that big guy.” He replies, almost a whisper. Shane can feel the bed dip slightly as he shifts, the faint pressure spreads along his side. “That one’s on me.”

Shane lets out a shaky breath but keeps his eyes closed. He’s afraid he won’t be able to feel what little he does if he opens them. He thinks there’s a warm pressure against his cheek, a thumb sweeping across the ridge of the bone there. He thinks he feels that same warm pressure against his mouth and he sighs, hoping that when he opens his eyes the phantom of a kiss wasn’t just his imagination.

 

* * *

 

Shane wonders whether what they’re doing currently can be considered cult activity as he sits on the floor of Allie’s apartment, all the furniture pushed back and out of the way except for the coffee table and Allie’s armchair. Shane had been unhappy to discover that Allie was also in on the plan, but just as with Ryan the anger soon melted away into tired resignation. Enthusiasm was probably a little too much to ask from someone who had previously had no belief in the supernatural but Shane’s natural curiosity worms its way through at every opportunity.

There’s paper and books and various sets of boxes and pouches scattered across every available surface and he sits amongst it, surveying it and feeling completely overwhelmed. He’s still anxious about the whole necromancy business, questioning whether they should go through with it at every turn but ultimately Ryan manages to talk him down every time, a feat in and of itself. They all note down incantations and symbols that might be useful or make the magic more effective and Shane grumbles to himself, rubbing his eyes as he strains to read sometimes almost illegible texts without the use of his glasses or contacts. Mostly he just watches or asks Ryan questions. He always seems to have an answer, even though some of them will completely contradict each other. One source says the ritual should be held at 11AM another, at midnight, a different source entirely states that the witching hour, 3AM, is the optimal time.

Shane’s chest aches at the toll it’s taking on Ryan. The time he doesn’t spend working is spent setting out a game plan for ‘the big day’ and it takes Shane and Allie practically banning him from both the apartments to get him to go out and spend some time with friends. Shane has to strong arm him into sleeping by wandering silently into his bedroom and waiting until Ryan finds it in himself to join him. It never takes long. He talks to Allie about it, about the guilt he feels, how it feels as though Ryan is sacrificing so much of his time for something they aren’t even sure will work, something that could go terribly wrong. She assuages every one of his fears as best she can but they always return to the fact that Ryan won’t change his mind about going through with it.

Shane can’t deny that the quiet determination that surrounds Ryan is intoxicating. He’s always known that if he was corporeal Ryan could kick his ass but watching Ryan pore over research and talk confidently about different factions of magic he looks unstoppable, a force of nature ready to combat anything that gets in his way. It’s magnetic, a frenetic energy that possesses him and propels him forward and Shane can’t take his eyes off him. He’s lost count of the amount of times Ryan has caught him staring, fingertips brushing his lips as a reminder of the phantom touch he’d felt there. Whenever he catches him Ryan smiles, reaching out for him and Shane allows himself to sit close, reading what Ryan is referring to from over his shoulder.

It’s nice, this new brand of closeness they share. Shane is almost excited when he’s not paralysed with fear. If it works. If he gets to live again. He’s gonna kiss him, for real. He might subsequently have a fucking heart attack and die all over again but this time it’ll be worth it.

He thinks about kissing Ryan pretty much every day in the days leading up to the ritual. It’s the only thing that stops the ice cold fear from swallowing him whole, especially when the night of the ritual finally arrives and he watches Ryan pack a bag with all the tools and precautions they could possibly need. He doesn’t know what exactly might happen tonight but he knows there’s a distinct possibility that he won’t be returning, that something will go wrong and he’ll have to leave this world altogether. He says his goodbyes, Ryan following anxiously at his heels as he makes his way silently through the apartment. Talking to Allie is excruciating and they’re all in tears by the time they leave. He hopes that if he doesn’t return that this goodbye will be enough for her, that she knows she did everything she could for him and that he has always treasured her.

The journey to the site Ryan has picked out feels a little like being driven to his own funeral but when they pull up to the overgrown patch of land it also feels sorta like his ghostly ass is gonna get murked. “Ahh yes this looks like an appropriate spot to return the dead to the mortal coil.” He says jovially as he steps out of the car and Ryan makes his way to the trunk to haul out his bag of magic tricks. Ryan laughs and switches his flashlight on before stomping his way through the brush. The night is cold and Shane can see him shiver, tugging the sleeves of his sweater down from underneath his jacket. It’s his sweater really, Ryan had been adamant about wearing it but offering every excuse under the sun about it ‘being solely for the sake of the ritual’. Shane had nodded and shrugged but a big part of him just sort of wants Ryan to _want_ to wear it.

“You okay there big guy?” Ryan asks, looking back at him over his shoulder. They’ve come to a stop at a patch of flat, clear ground.

“Yeah, I’m uh I’m primed and ready buddy let’s get this necromancy train rolling.” He crows clapping his hands together. He takes the flashlight from Ryan and points it dutifully at the ground as Ryan sets to work drawing his circles and symbols that Shane still only has a rudimentary knowledge of. He trusts him though so when he steps into his salt circle and takes a seat Shane quickly follows suit in his own, heart pounding in his chest as Ryan pulls candles and incense and a heavy looking book from his bag. He removes a small vial of clear liquid from a side pocket before dropping the bag and the rest of its contents outside the circle. “Okay so you know the drill. Lighting a few candles, burning some incense, some mumbled Latin and English and this other language that I’m not entirely sure is even a language and we should be good.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to seduce me Ryan.” Shane simpers from his spot opposite him.

“I don’t have to try.” Ryan doesn’t even glance in his direction, a sly smile upturning his lips as he focuses on lighting the candles and incense. “Oookay that’s definitely something we need to talk about when I’m flesh and bone again.” Shane says breathlessly and the idea sends a jolt of excitement sparking up his spine, a complete contrast to the absolutely blinding terror that has his stomach churning with nausea. “Is the whole necromancy thing turning you on because we might need to talk about that too?” He quips and Ryan laughs, his whole body shaking with it as his hands pry open the heavy book to a page he has bookmarked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He says with a smile so sweet Shane momentarily stops breathing, and for now that has no adverse effects but he’s pretty sure that if it could it would kill him it. He sputters and gestures for Ryan to get on with it and they get down to business.

Shane sort of zones out as Ryan starts to speak, the foreign languages sound lyrical even as Ryan stutters over certain words. The flames from the candles seem to grow bigger and glow brighter and the quiet sounds of the distant highway and the chilled wind seem to fade away in deference to Ryan’s voice. Shane finds himself transfixed by the flickering candle light and it soon consumes his vision as Ryan’s voice fills his mind in the same way the white noise of the spirit box often fills it so that few other thoughts can remain. Ryan’s voice is much more pleasant than the incessant screeching of the devil’s boombox but it forms part of a cacophony of sound and light that’s quick to overwhelm him. His breath becomes short in his chest and he can no longer see Ryan’s form for the flame of the candles surrounding him. They seem to burn brighter and brighter, the heat and light mounting alongside his own panic before the flames are extinguished entirely and they’re plunged into darkness.

His breathing is loud in the sudden quiet and he can’t see anything, not even the moon seems to shed any light on his surroundings. “Ryan?” He calls. “Shane!” Ryan calls back.

“What happened I-”

“I don’t know I haven’t finished the incantation.” Shane can hear him shifting around anxiously and the thought of him moving from the circle when they have no idea what just happened sends icy fear coursing through him. “Don’t leave your circle Ryan, whatever you do. You got your flashlight?” He asks and Ryan answers by flicking it on, illuminating himself with the beam.

“Oh thank fuck.” Shane breathes out lowering his head and trying to breathe. The beam of the flashlight flicks around them nervously, never resting on one spot until the light starts to flicker again. “No no no no” Ryan starts to panic, hitting the flashlight with the palm of his hand but it inevitably goes out, pitching them back into the oppressive darkness. “Fuck!”

“Don’t fucking move Ryan. Don’t move. We’ll figure something out just don’t leave the circle.” Shane says trying desperately not to let Ryan hear his own panic.

Fear creeps through his mind, rooting him to the spot and he’s unable to think straight, staring incessantly into the darkness until one by one the candles light themselves, filling the clearing with an eerie glow. Movement to his left sends anger and bile and unadulterated fear cracking through him like slowly spreading ice. “Well, well, well if it isn’t my favourite little ghost hunter and his guard dog boyfriend.” A cheery voice hisses and the figure of a man saunters into view. “I see the party’s already in full swing.” He says, stepping further into the light and glancing at the smattering of symbols and incense. “Let’s have some fun shall we?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so don't kill me but I had to do it to ya.  
> "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away"
> 
> On a scale of 1 to "how much I hate Charles Dickens and Sigmund Freud (spoiler: its a lot)" let me know how much you now hate me in the comments or on [tumblr](https://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Is this formatting any better or worse? Let me know please!  
> Thank you for sticking with me this far!


	15. Do what thou wilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unorthodox date night continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law. Love is the law, love under will."
> 
>  **Trigger warnings:** violence, blood, brief mention of vomit, brief suicide mention.

“An unorthodox date night for an unorthodox couple.” The man drawls, examining the area intently. He pays especially close attention to their circles and the sigils drawn painstakingly into the dirt. He smiles a smile that seems to tear his face in two, unnaturally wide, sinister in its joviality. The sight of him makes Shane feel sick. He’d thought him nothing but a disgruntled spirit when he’d encountered him before, it seems he was wrong, perhaps dangerously so.

“James.” Shane breathes out, irritation burning through him. He swallows harshly, biting back the fear that slithers up his spine.

“Ugh _James_. No my _real_ name is Czart. James is just the name of the last guy I... _Influenced_.” He says with a snarl, mouth twisting up into a disgusted curl. He’s dressed in much the same way as when Shane first met him, drab ill fitting suit, with scuffed shoes and a loose tie. On the surface the look screams overworked office worker. Closer inspection reveals something ominous, a visceral power prowling beneath his skin. “Well I’m not calling you _Czart_ , it makes you sound like some pretentious Instagram influencer. I’m sticking with James.” Shane quips. Bravado had worked before he’s hoping it’ll work again. A few pointedly thrown barbs and an air of nonchalance, a few threats if it came to it and maybe he’d leave. Or maybe not as James snaps his head to look at him inhumanly fast, his eyes a cold and lifeless pitch black. “What if I called you names, coward?” He spits. Shane garners some twisted pleasure from getting a reaction so obvious from him but it’s a fine line between provocation and a death wish. “Sticks and stones, James.” Shane singsongs, curling his hands into fists at his sides to stop them from shaking.

A sense of dread settles heavy in his chest like someone is subjecting him to a peine forte et dure, dropping stone on stone on top until he’s crushed by the weight of it. His mind is trying to work a mile a minute: how to get away, how to keep them safe. He can see Ryan, trembling where he sits on the cold ground. He looks scared and confused and ridiculously annoyed, like he’s about ready to start swinging at James for interrupting his occult business. Shane stifles a snicker. Silver linings and all that.

“Who the fuck are you?” Ryan’s shaky voice sounds from across the clearing. He gets to his feet unsteadily, shifting his weight from foot to foot like he’s preparing to bolt. Shane wonders if that would be their best bet, to make a run for it. The circles are safe, at least for now but they have no idea what they’re up against, if they stand a chance either way. “Oh so you never did break it to him?” James says, nonchalantly meandering closer to Ryan. “I’m the ‘spirit’-” he says, irritatingly forming quotation marks in the air with his fingers, “of that murderer our _hero_ over here told you he’d banished. Except he didn’t. And I’m no simple spirit.” His form flickers slightly and he seems to grow like a looming shadow as he steps ever closer to Ryan’s circle “But he didn’t know that, so don’t be too hard on the boy.” He grins and Ryan glowers at him suspiciously, stepping as far away from him as possible whilst still staying inside his circle.

“Shane?” Ryan says nervously, gaze flitting between the two of them.

“I’m sorry I didn’t want to scare you.” Shane jumps to explain himself. “I thought it’d be fine. I didn’t know he was-”

“A demon? After all you’ve been through and you still can’t spit out the word? Scared?” James taunts, mocking him with a pout.

“Of demons?” Shane asks folding his arms across his chest and glaring at James, who he refuses to even mentally refer to by his dumb demon name. “I’ve had my fair share of demons. Compared to them, you’re nothing.” In reality it’s like comparing apples and oranges, struggles with mental illness and a literal demon. They’re different ballparks entirely but he’s fond of the metaphor all the same.

James lets out a bark of laughter, sinister and mirthless. “And I’m the pretentious one.” He says rolling his eyes.

“You’re both pretentious.” Ryan’s voice pipes up, brandishing his flashlight rather unhelpfully like a sword.

“Hey! Show some solidarity here buddy!” Shane whines and it makes Ryan smile, just a little and Shane can breathe a little easier when his expression isn’t shrouded completely in fear. It’s that momentary lack of fear that definitely pisses James off however. He catches Ryan’s smile and stalks toward him, stopping just at the edge of Ryan’s circle. Ryan has backed up as far away from him as he can possibly get inside the ring of salt he’s confined to. He teeters where he stands, obviously threatened and exposed. The sight of it makes Shane shudder, Ryan’s defiance trying to shine through despite being trapped in a cage of his own making.

James stares at him, unnervingly, and his mouth stretches into an ungodly grimace before his whole form seems to shudder sickeningly, limbs contorting and joints cracking out of place grotesquely. Little by little he melts into a dark slithering fog, coalescing like tar before coiling upward again. A shape solidifies slowly, as if sculpted by malevolent hands.

It’s no longer James staring blankly at Ryan but Shane. James has assumed Shane’s form, stalking around Ryan’s circle, over and over. Ryan spins, struggling to keep his eyes on him. It’s intimidation at it’s finest. He quickens his pace prowling the perimeter predatorily until he stops, deadly still. He’s positioned so that Shane can see both him and Ryan. Ryan warily shifts his gaze between the two of them. The figure’s demeanour shifts almost imperceptibly at first but then suddenly it no longer looks like James wearing his skin, an abomination wearing his likeness like a costume, but that he _is_ Shane, everything about him like looking in a mirror. He smiles sheepishly, one hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck like he’s inclined to do when he’s nervous. It makes him feel sick, nausea crashes through him and he makes an aborted movement to leave his circle, to tear the shade of himself away from Ryan but he stops short, swaying on his feet.

“I didn’t know how to tell you before...” He says quietly, in his voice and Shane watches on in horror, a constant mantra of _no no no please don’t_ repeating through his mind. He watches Ryan’s eyes go wide, shuffling closer in a daze, as if unaware of his own movements. “But I love you Ry.” He smiles sweetly, saccharine and Shane sobs, can see Ryan’s own tears as he wrenches his gaze away from the shade in front of him to look at him. “Fuck you!” He growls but James’ focus remains on Ryan, like he’s the centre of the universe.

“Take my hand and we can have this. Just like in those dreams of yours.” His own voice coos, cajoling and comforting in equal measure. Ryan appears transfixed, his cheeks flushing even as his brows furrow in confusion. Shane snorts. “Why would he even-” He starts but then Ryan starts to reach out and Shane doesn’t have time to be shocked. He steps out of his own circle. James snaps to look at him, his own eyes staring back at him but as black as the void and a biting cold seeps into him like being submerged in a frozen lake.

Before Shane can so much as open his mouth Ryan is yanking away his hand and hurling something at James with his other arm. An unearthly screech fills the clearing as the shade is showered in droplets of what Shane can only assume is holy water. “Fucking creep!” Ryan bellows rubbing the tears harshly from his face with the sleeve of his jacket. _What a man_. The form crumples to the ground in a screaming mass of formless darkness before it lurches toward Shane, spinning itself slowly into the image of a disfigured James as it chases him down. His skin is mottled and bubbling, writhing and blistering as he snarls at him, foaming at the mouth. Shane attempts to run but he trips and crashes to the ground before he can even reach the edge of the clearing. If he had time to think he’d wonder how he possibly could have tripped but James is on him in an instant. Something claws at his back as he desperately tries to scramble away, five sharp points of pain that pin him to the ground as he cries out, voice foreign to him due to the agony that permeates it. Blood pounds in his ears and he faintly hears himself whimper as James hauls him over onto his back. His form is hulking now, too close and distorting with every breath.

“You cost me a fucking promotion.” He growls and really? All this because he somehow prevented this demon fuck from taking another step up the career ladder of the legions of Hell? “Four fucking years I spent following you around, waiting until you ran into your friends Allie and then Ryan. I wanted to kill them myself but noooo apparently that’s not how it works.” Before Shane can splutter out a response a clawed hand grabs him by the throat and drags him to his feet. The brief lack of oxygen makes his head spin and his vision blur, he doubles over and coughs, feeling vomit trying to rise up his throat. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Shane spits, and he can barely see from how much his eyes are watering with the pain, he staggers a little, trying to move back to the safety of his salt circle but James blocks his path, face twisting with a sneer. He’s too fast, eyes keen, and with a strength too great for one ungainly white dude who also happens to be a ghost, and his 5 foot fuck companion, who might he add, can’t pronounce February correctly so why he trusted him with archaic languages is beyond him.

From the corner of his eye Shane can see Ryan scrambling to reach the bag he’d dropped just beyond the circle. He stretches, carefully trying to keep the majority of his body inside the ring of salt. He manages to snatch it back inside the circle, ripping it open and rummaging around inside. His panicked gaze flits from his shaking hands to Shane. He prays with all he has that Ryan isn’t about to do something incredibly fucking stupid.

“It seems like you and your buddies have friends in high places. We can’t just have God’s chosen wandering around on Earth, who knows what trouble they’d get into! The big guy is really fond of giving out little gifts to his favourite creation.”

“So what, you were gonna make me kill them? There’s no way in Hell.” Shane pants and he takes a step forward, foolish bravery and an anger so visceral coursing through him like pressurised steam, roaring and scalding. “You wouldn’t have had a choice boy!” James growls, standing his ground. His voice loud and excruciating, like nails on a chalkboard. “Oh but I did didn’t I?” Shane smirks, part of his mind screams at him to stop. _Goading a fucking demon? Is he insane?_ He decides that yes, these aren’t the actions of a sane man, they’re the actions of a desperate one with nothing to lose. “Offing myself really threw a wrench in things didn’t it? So you’ve been sniffing around like a dog looking for scraps ever since.”

That hits a nerve and Shane finds himself flat on his back again, head cracking so hard against the ground he has to swallow back vomit for a second time. He claws at the ground as a ringing starts in his ears. James’ face contorts grotesquely as he looms over him. Surprisingly he gets a good old fashioned punch to the face for his trouble and it must seriously fuck up his nose if the sickening crunch and flood of blood that threatens to trickle into his throat and choke him are anything to go by. He can barely see, vision blurring in and out of focus and he kicks and struggles in an attempt to keep him occupied. He’s not going to win this fight, limbs heavy with exhaustion.

He can distantly hear Ryan’s voice washing over him, in the same lyrical language as before. Darkness starts to encroach on his vision and the echo of his own scream, as claws rip through his side, wrenches through him. He ignores James’ laughter and Ryan’s frantic chants and crawls, squeezes his eyes shut and crawls and crawls, dragging himself through the dust and the red, clay-like mud formed by his own blood. He struggles to his knees, breaths leaving him fast and shallow. He presses a hand against his bloody side, the viscous red seeping between his fingers. He hauls himself to his feet with a grunt and continues.

He’s not trying to run away, he’s walking toward that familiar bright light. There’s a door swinging open silently just to the right of his salt circle. James doesn’t seem to have seen it. It’s the only thing he can think of to make this end. It seems as though Ryan has been chanting for hours and James appears unaffected, stalking steadily forward, his whole body convulsing and contorting in anticipation for the kill. Shane can feel the energy leaking from him as tacky blood sticks his shirt to his back, every move sends an aching, blinding pain through his back, wrapping around to his ribs. The throbbing of his head makes his vision spot but still he stumbles forward until he reaches the shining doorway, reaching out a blood soaked hand to grip the frame. He doesn’t know how he got it to open, maybe it’s because Ryan knows that he loves him, even though he didn’t get to say the words himself. Maybe it’s simply his time.

He turns around, his back to the incandescent nothingness beyond and brings bloodied fingers to his mouth. He whistles. “Here boy!” He calls. Ryan screams his name but it’s too late. He shuts his eyes as the blackness hits him like a freight train. He falls, never to hit the ground.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOPS I DID IT AGAIN
> 
> Love a bit of self sacrifice with my cheerios. Writing people getting beat up is hard friends.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the love and affection. The comments and kudos just blow my mind and please keep them coming. You can also find me on [tumblr](https://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/) it's a fun time over there, we talk about bfu, jaffa cakes, the unending disaster that is my daily life.
> 
> Also some beautiful stunning seraphim have blessed us with glorious art!  
> A gift by the inimitable [ladyliedie](http://ladyliedie.tumblr.com/post/171488101564/in-his-hands-he-holds-a-pink-candle-the-label)  
> A blessing by the phenomenal [cuckcitybitch](http://cuckcitybitch.tumblr.com/post/171395683200/i-havent-drawn-art-for-a-fic-in-such-a-long-time)  
> And a joy by the incomparable [thepossessionofshanemadej](https://thepossessionofshanemadej.tumblr.com/post/171505902753/youre-going-to-be-late-he-says-and-watches-as)  
> Check out their amazing work and wonderful selves and support them however you can cause there's some serious mojo going on with these folk.


	16. As Above, so Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's literally been through hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Revelation 14:10 'The same shall drink of the wine of the wrath of God, which is poured out without mixture into the cup of his indignation; and he shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels, and in the presence of the Lamb'_
> 
> **Trigger warnings:** some blood, some mild gore, a brief vomit mention. Look it's hell okay it's not gonna be pretty.

 

_B-I-N-G-O_

_B-I-N-G-O_

_B-I-N-G-O_

_And Bingo was his name-o_

 

Shane hangs his head and lets out a squeaky laugh, his voice echoing in the nothingness. Sensory deprivation is a bitch and it feels as though he’s been dangling here, in silent darkness for hours. Shapes dance in front of his eyes and he can taste his own blood every time he swallows, his busted nose still oozing, dripping tacky globules down onto his lips making his mouth and chin sticky with it. His arms are fastened somewhere above him, he can’t exactly tell what with considering the majority of him is either submerged in numbness or consumed by a rasping ache. He starts singing again.

 

_B-I-N-G-O_

_B-I-N-G-O_

_B-I-N-G-O_

 

“Well this is one of the most fucked up episodes of Barney and Friends I’ve ever seen” He rasps out, his voice sounds distant as if he’s hearing it from outside himself. The sound of his own voice is strangely comforting though, it stops him from hearing the sluggish pound of his heartbeat in his ears. The longer he spends in darkness the more he swears he can see something crawling and writhing in it. Hallucinations are common in instances of prolonged sensory deprivation but they most commonly take the form of floating shapes or repeating geometric patterns, he read a book about them once. He’s not so sure these are hallucinations. He’s seen some pretty fucked up shit already, horror movies are never gonna be the same. That’s if he ever gets to see one again. That’s if he ever gets to see anyone again.

Fuck _Ryan_. He gasps, pain flaring in his ribs so violently his body is wracked with a cough that just exacerbates the agony. He squeezes his eyes shut against the stinging heat but the image of Ryan’s distraught face haunts him behind his eyelids and he chokes out a sob that morphs into a wet sounding groan. His chest screams at him, his pulled taught position putting pressure on his lungs, breaths bubbling with the slow sensation of suffocation. He tries to breathe, his deep grating breaths hurt but it makes it easier to think, keeps the floating fuzziness of unconsciousness at bay.

“Hello?” He whispers. There’s movement in the dark but he can’t pinpoint exactly what it is. It looks like somebody shaking, collapsed on the ground. The longer he stares the more he can see and the scene materialises in front of him like a developing photograph. “Ryan!” He yells, voice cracking, the pitch high and desperate. Ryan cowers inside his circle in the dark, horrific strangled sobs being ripped from his chest as he claws at the ground on his hands and knees. “Ryan!” He screams, but he doesn’t react or respond. He looks to be on the verge of panic, breaths too short and ragged. He lifts his head up and gazes around frantically, terror evident in his eyes as his entire body shakes.

“He can’t hear you buddy. You’re a little more than six feet under now.” He hears James’ smarmy voice sound from his left and fuck he wants this guy dead, wants to tear out his throat with his bare hands. “Oh that’s delicious,” James says salaciously as if sensing Shane’s rage “you’ve been here less than three hours and it’s already taking its toll.”

“I would really fucking appreciate it if you stopped talking in riddles you sick fuck.” Shane snarls, feeling spit and blood flick from his mouth as he grits out the words. He tugs on his bindings, hisses at the strain it puts on his shoulders and torso. “Alright tough guy. You’re in Hell and I’m giving you an ultimatum.”

“Figures.” Shane mutters, trying to tune out Ryan’s cries to no avail. He grits his teeth and finally turns his head to look at James. He gets a visceral sense of satisfaction from seeing that his face is still all fucked up. He smiles sweetly at him and James returns it with his own sickening grimace. Fuck, this guy is a nightmare. “So hit me with it Leatherface,” he coughs, “what’re my options?”

James grunts but ignores the insult. Ryan’s grief stricken image flickers out and the room grows steadily brighter until what looks like a seemingly never ending subway train is revealed. Shane vomits, mostly bile and blood and he moves too sharply to stay out of its way. “Kill Ryan and live for an eternity back on your world, running the odd errand for us.” James posits thankfully moving into his line of sight so he can no longer see the poor soul that’s had their eyes gouged out, slumped at an unnatural angle in a bloodied seat. “Or stay here for eternity and wait for your soul to darken beyond all recognition. It’s already tainted after all.” Shane hums thoughtfully, his vision swimming with the despair in front of him. The air smells rancid, thick with smoke and the scent of God fucking knows what. He gags but masks it as a cough. It’s not what he’d anticipated when he’d contemplated hell but although there’s a distinct lack of fire he still feels as though he’s choking on the stench of burning flesh. Bodies dangle from the roof of the train, some, barely recognisable as human stand tied to the standing poles as if strapped to a pyre.

“Great cool okay, both are such wonderful opportunities.” He says sarcastically, tearing his eyes away from his grotesque surroundings. James has apparently had enough of waiting for an answer as he moves, so quickly Shane barely registers it before he feels excruciating pain in his side. He looks down just in time to see James remove a thin dagger from just beneath his ribs. The small wound oozes lazily, the puncture small but a bright spot of pain as Shane jerks in his restraints. “Fuck you. How’s that for an ans-” He breaks off in a scream as a clawed finger prods at the wound. “There is no way. No way in fucking _Hell._ ” He says smiling through the pain, the darkness that creeps into his vision, the retching that wracks his body. James steps back and shrugs “Suit yourself.” He says and turns his back on him. The swaying of the subway car grinds to a halt and the doors shudder open. James steps off into blinding white light.

 

* * *

 

_AND BINGO WAS HIS NAME-O_

 

“Could you maybe shut the fuck up?” A voice calls from behind him and Shane jerks in surprise, opening his eyes with a wince. Yep, still on the horrific subway ride to Nightmare Ville. He cranes his neck to look over his shoulder and grunts in frustration when he doesn’t quite manage it. “Alright don’t hurt yourself they’ve already done quite the number on you.” They give a low whistle and Shane tenses as he feels them approach. He flinches as something sharp is slipped between the palms of his hands and bites back a cry when they suddenly jerk the implement downward. The rope stringing his body taught is cut and Shane’s arms drop like weights to his sides. The sudden movement hurts, a sharp contrast to the pervasive numbness he’d been experiencing before. “Ow ow ow.” He says hissing as the blood attempts to work its way back into the appendages. His fingers tingle and pain flares up the muscles of his biceps and forearms. “Get over it you big baby, you’ve been stabbed twice, mauled several times and had your nose broken. Shake it off.”

“Shake it- okay who the Hell are you?” Shane asks, shuffling around to face his would-be saviour, pressing a dirtied palm gingerly to his side. His whole body feels like it’s on fire, his forehead is drenched in sweat as a prickly burning sensation crawls across his skin. He stumbles, not quite strong enough to hold himself up for long and shuffles tentatively over to the train doors. He slumps against them after tip toeing over several severed limbs on his way there. He casts a glance at the person before him, their bright blue eyes unnerving as they follow his every move.

“My name is Azrael, I’m an angel of death.” They remark casually, as if bored by it, as if they’ve been introducing themself the same way for an eternity. They don’t look particularly angelic, dressed simply in a faded grey t-shirt and dark wash jeans. “You don’t look like an angel.” He says suspiciously. “My true form would make your brain explode.” They reply, rolling their eyes as if Shane’s question is something they get a lot. “Right gotcha wouldn’t want that.”

“I’m here to bring you back to the surface.” Azrael blurts out, casting their piercing eyes about the carriage furtively. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Why?” Shane asks. He’s desperate to escape this place but he’s ridiculously suspicious. As far as he’s concerned no otherworldly beings are to be trusted, not even himself.  
“Why what?”

“Why do you wanna bring me back?” He asks patiently. The train shudders around them, pained groans and screams almost sounding like the screech of the tracks beneath them, almost. Azrael huffs annoyed, wringing their hands in front of them anxiously as they gaze unseeingly out at the searing white light beyond the train windows. “Hell weren’t the only ones to have a bet on you okay? The big guy gifted Allie and Ryan. Hell is always out to get them, Allie is a teacher and Ryan has the discernment of spirits. Properly trained they’d be a demon killing machine.” Azrael explains and Shane has no idea what they’re talking about beyond the fact that God has given his adopted mom and the love of his life magical powers which makes them number one on all of Hell’s hit list. “Oookay what’s that got to do with me?” He asks, trying to focus through the growing pounding in his head. Ryan and Allie are still in danger, and here he is holidaying in Hell. “We were planning on making you a um shall we say honorary member of our ranks- just to keep an eye out for them. We don’t like to meddle as much as Hell, human lives are messy.”  
“You’re telling me.” He drawls wryly sucking in a deep breath and blinking against the pain mounting in his head. “You were planning on it? Well beam me up pal I’m down to tango.”

“Well you died.” Azrael shrugs, pacing the little space in front of the doors and peering out the window. “And then you ended up here. It’s not that simple anymore.” They smile apologetically and the harsh fluorescent light of the train flickers as it judders and jolts. An unearthly screech accompanies the pounding in his ears and his vision becomes blurry like static on a television screen.

The train stops, throwing Shane back against the doors. His vision clears slowly, fuzzy at the edges. His eyes fall immediately to Azrael. He blinks once. Twice. The third time he has to accept that Azrael really does have a flaming sword in his hand and stifles the delirious laugh that threatens to burst from him. _Fire and brimstone indeed_. He tears his gaze away from this new absurdity to view another. Every eye, or lack thereof, on board stares with the intensity of the seven deadly sins themselves, directly in their direction.

“Alright we’ve got a problem.” Azrael says, hand flexing around the hilt of their sword that oscillates with flames like a giant fucking Bunsen burner. They reach out a hand that clamps painfully onto Shane’s forearm. It feels as though it’s being branded and he stares in disbelief as a sword begins to materialise the gold hilt weighing down his palm before the short silver blade stretches out in front of him. “There you’ve got your sword. Time to fight our way out.”

“Are you serious? With the heavenly equivalent of a lightsaber? Also, do I look like the fighting type to you?” Shane all but screams at them, waving his new weapon around wildly.

“You literally look like you’ve gone ten rounds in the ring with a bear and you’re still standing. You can fight.” Azrael adds dismissively, their eyes still fixed on the other occupants of the carriage. A few brave souls have started shuffling closer, teeth gnashing menacingly whilst others simply laugh.

“But with a sword? The only time I’ve held anything close to a sword was at the live action role playing group I went to once in college.” Shane frets, bringing his other hand up to grasp what feels like a needle in comparison to the apparent threat they’re up against. “You also went to that one improv class in college. That turned out pretty well.”

“Turned out- I died! Nothing turned out ‘pretty well’, I’m dead! I’m in Hell! That’s the opposite of ‘turning out pretty well’”

“Ryan thinks you’re funny.” Azrael states as if it’s proof and it sort of is. “Could be worse.” Azrael shrugs and that is definitely not comforting. They ready their own sword and they stand side by side, watching as the hoards in front of them start to pick up the pace, hurrying toward them along the winding metal innards of the train. “Batter up kid.” They say and Shane readies himself as best he can in his condition, fingers curling tight around the gold hilt of the sword “And swing!” Azrael yells, his sword singing through the air in a lightning strike of light and viscera.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How're we doin' folks? Awfully sorry about those cliffhangers BUT guess who's coming back to get his man. You know who it is.
> 
> Thank you for all your love and attention you're all incredibly sweet and funny please do continue to bless me with your patience and your hilarity. Once again, shoot me something over on [tumblr](https://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/) if you're so inclined. I recently was goaded into stealing a bridge from the devil and had megan doubt my current claim on it for the internet to see.


	17. The Lost Boys Reject

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several possibly obscure references and a holy water pistol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly longer one this time folks. For a fun lil' kick try listening to People Are Strange by Echo & The Bunnymen whilst reading. Especially for the middle section.
> 
>  **Trigger warnings:** A bit of gore if you squint, blood mention.

 

“Fend ‘em off, I’ll jimmy the door open.” Azrael calls, doubling back toward the train doors, dodging wayward limbs and flying chunks of flesh. “Jimmy? Jimmy who? Jimmy Buffett?” Shane calls over his shoulder as he lands a kick to the vague vicinity of his assailant’s nether regions. He resists the temptation to start singing Margaritaville and focuses on pushing back the onslaught of bodies trying to overwhelm him. For someone with zero sword wielding experience he’s fallen into quite the rhythm. The gormless hoard aren’t particularly smart or strong they’re just fucking gross looking and there’s a lot of them. A guy with no jaw rushes him, catching him off guard. The swift upward thrust of his sword is almost reflexive but it sees Shane stumbling slightly, knocked off balance. The guy isn’t smart enough to keep his distance however and essentially impales himself on the blade with enthusiasm. The guy coughs, blackened blood bubbling from his gaping maw, he splutters and some of it finds its way onto Shane’s face. Shane pushes until he slides off onto the floor, landing with a sickening thump. “Hope they have a shot for this.” He says aloud, wiping his face frantically. He dodges around what remains of the legion of sinners and hop, skips and jumps it to Azrael’s side.

“Need a hand?” He says, casting a furtive glance behind him. He follows Azrael’s lead and shoves his sword into the gap between the train doors with a grunt. They wrench and wiggle the weapons until the doors finally start to screech open inch by grating inch. They stand in the gap they’ve made, looking out into the blinding whiteness beyond as the sound of the groaning masses grows louder. “Don’t say it.” Azrael says but they’re grinning. Adrenaline pulses through Shane’s veins and he knows he’s probably grinning like a mad man but he feels alive, body screaming in exhaustion and pain but it’s a _sensation,_ growing stronger by the second. “Looks like this is our stop.” He laughs before stepping off into the light. He falls, again, and just when he fears he’ll never land pain ricochets through his spine and he is suddenly wet and cold and decidedly horizontal.

He blinks open his eyes to stare at the night sky, rain beating down against his skin where he lies on his back in what appears to be the middle of a deserted road. He can feel, _everything_. The cold, wet and rough asphalt digging into his back. The small stones and grit that dig themselves into his palms. He rasps in sharp, shallow breaths, feeling the air enter and fill up his lungs as the gallop of his heartbeat pounds out against his chest, in his throat, and echoes in his ears. He’s soaked to the bone and his body aches like he’s been running for miles. He laughs. He laughs hysterically as his fingers start to feel numb and he moves his arms sluggishly across the ground feeling the sharp scrape of flesh as he grazes his hands on the coarse ground. He laughs so hard his whole body starts to shake violently, he blinks obsessively as water drips into his eyes, his face slick with so much rain water he can’t even tell he’s crying.

“You okay there buddy?” Azrael’s voice sounds loud, everything sounds loud like he’s been listening to everything through ear defenders and he’s finally taken them off. He rolls his head to look at them, standing above him in the middle of the road, sheltered under an umbrella and wrapped up in a warm looking coat. Their eyes are nowhere near as piercing as they had been, no trace of an otherworldly heritage can be seen and Shane supposes that’s probably for the best on Earth. “I’m alive.” Shane chokes out and Azrael smiles softly at him, helping him maneuver himself upright with an arm around his shoulders. Shane just sits, long legs stretched out in front of him and sort of pats them, feeling the wet fabric of his jeans cling to his skin. It’s all so vivid and a migraine is quickly manifesting itself in the back of his head. “How?” He says, voice barely a whisper, eyes wide as he looks down at his hands, red raw from his ministrations but he relishes the sting. “How am I-” He stops talking abruptly, swallowing back a burning lump in his throat.

“Second chance.” They say shrugging, shuffling closer so that their umbrella shields the both of them. “There’s some cons but you’ve got your life back pal.”

“There haven’t been a whole lot of pros so far so what are the cons this time?” Shane says quietly, the sound of his own voice still seemingly too loud. “Well bringing you back from the dead isn’t exactly the same as bringing you back from Hell.” Azrael hands him a small pocket mirror and all he can do is stare. His eyes are a shiny black. His own gaze sends a shiver down his spine and something like panic seizes in his chest “Oh.” He says lamely and catches the slight point to his incisors. He hands the mirror back silently. “We can only add, not take away. You’d been down there too long by the time I got to you. The physical attributes should fade after time but we all leave our mark I’m afraid.” Azrael adds apologetically shoving the mirror into their coat pocket.

“What was your team’s?” Shane asks, curious.

“Check your left arm.” Shane rolls up the sopping wet sleeve of his shirt with difficulty, inching the fabric up to his elbow.

“Neat-o my mom’ll be pissed.” He says as a brand like image of a sword is revealed on the inside of his forearm. It’s neat and intricate like it’s been seared there by a laser. “You’ve danced with the devil and been touched by an angel. Not many humans can say that. It’ll fade into a raised looking scar but it’ll be there, pretty gnarly right?” Azrael chuckles with an impish grin that makes them look impossibly young for an ancient messenger of God. “Alright Marty McFly. What now?” Shane says getting shakily to his feet. The world around him seems to tilt and spin and Azrael reaches out to steady him.

Once they’re sure Shane isn’t about to collapse under his own weight Azrael is shoving a wallet into Shane’s hands along with a car key. “Pick up where you left off. This has your cards, driver’s license, some cash. The key will work in the first car its used on. Allie is safe at home but Ryan took off after your tumble with Czart.” Shane wrinkles his nose at the use of that asshole’s real name. Names have power after all, he doesn’t deserve to be referred to by one at all let alone his real demony demon one. “He’s around here somewhere in a motel.”

“Right. How do I find him?” Shane asks, still shivering violently in the tepid rain. He struggles to shove the wallet into the pocket of his jeans. “Follow your heart bro, or the ‘vibes’, whatever.” Azrael shrugs with a knowing grin. It seems Azrael has been with him for longer than he’d originally thought. Shane rolls his eyes and hugs them, clings to them slightly desperately with his eyes shut tight. “Thank you.” He says, voice strained and choked.

“ _Trust in the Lord, and do good; dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness. Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord, trust in him, and he will act._ ” Azrael says, voice chiming and clear as a bell as it fades into nothing. When Shane opens his eyes they’re gone and he stands alone. He’s cold, exhausted and his entire body aches but excitement thrums through him. He starts walking.

 

* * *

 

Shane thanks God for shitty small towns, Walmart and relatively clean gas station bathrooms. By some miracle the only wound he’s left with is a scar underneath the right side of his ribs and a fuck load of bruises. His nose is relatively unscathed, if a little wonky but it seems the blood has really done a number on his face and outfit. It’s certainly not his proudest moment having to sneak his way into Walmart in the middle of the night to buy entirely new clothes and something to get rid of what’s left of the blood on his face. The place is relatively deserted but he tries to keep as low a profile as possible. Walmart at night is maybe the closest thing Earth has to the underworld but a soaking wet 6’4” guy with pitch black eyes, wearing no shoes and entirely splattered in blood is bound to raise some eyebrows. The cashier he gets however is comically nonplussed and Shane both does and doesn’t want to know exactly what shit this kid must have seen to not even raise an eyebrow at his appearance. He pays, thanks the guy and hurries out to the nearest gas station as fast as his socked feet can carry him, because it’s just his luck that the in store bathrooms are closed for maintenance.

Once inside Shane gets down to business and realises conveniently that he has to pee and proceeds to do so for the first time in a year and a half. It’s an odd experience but pretty much like riding a bike, you never forget how to do it. Leak taken care of he changes into a new pair of - well everything. There’s a distinct sordidity to being practically naked in the stall of a gas station restroom, it’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to him but he certainly doesn’t want to do it again. He drags on a new pair of briefs, jeans and socks and laces up a cheap pair of boots, thankful that he no longer has to balance precariously to stop the bare soles of his feet from touching the gross bathroom floor. He strips off his shirt and exits the stall, throwing his old clothes in the trash. They aren’t salvageable and considering they’re also the clothes he died in that one time, part of the same ensemble he’s been wearing every day since he kicked the bucket, he’d rather not wear them ever again, in fact he’d quite like to burn them.

He looks over his pale and bruised torso, draws his eyes up to the column of his neck to his face. He looks like shit. His skin is pale where it’s not covered in blood and dirt and his hair is drenched and sticking to his forehead. He washes up gingerly, trying to put as little pressure on his bruises as possible but he still finds himself hissing as he drags a wash cloth across his chest. When he’s done he pushes his damp hair off his forehead and just looks at himself in the mirror. It’s not great he’s gotta be honest but he at least feels human again, despite still having those unnerving lifeless eyes. His skin is pasty but then what’s new? He does get some satisfaction from the fact his cheeks are flush from the warm water and that simple sign of life, of the blood running through his veins again makes him smile. He shrugs on a grey shirt and a black jacket and slips on a pair of dark sunglasses because wearing shades at night is slightly more acceptable than having two windows into the vacuous void for eyeballs. He feels better, looking like a much, much shittier version of Kiefer Sutherland in The Lost Boys, minus the bleach blond hair, hell maybe he’ll try out a new look this time around and get some frosted tips. Ryan would hate it.

He dumps the rest of his stuff in the trash before barrelling back out into the night, shoving his car key into the first vehicle he finds and wrangling his body into the driver's seat. He just sits for a while, eyes closed and breathing deeply. He can’t help but think about what he’s going to say to Ryan once he finds him. That he’s sorry? That he’s grateful? That he loves him? He wants to tell him all those things and more but he’s scared of not having the right words, of not saying everything he needs to say and having this second chance snatched away from him before he has a chance to say it all. He thinks about what he’d seen, suspended in darkness, how hurt, how utterly devastated Ryan had been as Shane watched him fall apart. He starts the car with a jerk, feeling like the world will be pulled out from under him, like it’ll be snatched away again at a moment's notice if he doesn’t find Ryan right now. He drives in silence, feeling the familiar spark in his gut and letting it lead the way through the night.

 

* * *

 

Two days and three hours later and Shane pulls into a motel parking lot at 3.37AM and knows this is the one. He’s stopped at every motel he’s encountered, just to be sure but there’s a tingle racing up and down his spine this time and he can feel his heart rate kick up a couple of notches thanks to the sheer amount of adrenaline the feeling incites. The night manager is ridiculously lax on security. When there’s apparently no Ryan Bergara currently staying with them he asks for one Ricky Goldsworth and that blesses him with a room number and a whole lot of amusement. He spends the entirety of the short walk to the room running his hand through his hair and straightening his shirt and jacket. Why he’s so obsessed with looking decent all of a sudden when Ryan has been hanging out with him as a ghost for more than a year is beyond him. It feels important now. It feels like a big fucking deal.

He knocks on the door and waits. Eventually he sees the curtains twitch and hears the sound of the lock clicking. The door bursts open to reveal a bleary eyed and disheveled looking Ryan brandishing what appears to be a water pistol. It’s funny until he sees the look of anguish in his eyes and suddenly he doesn’t feel like laughing anymore. “Stay back! Who the fuck are you? What have you done with Shane?” He says, shaky but blisteringly angry.

“It’s me Ry, I promise.” Shane says quietly, desperate for him to believe him.

“You’re lying.” Ryan spits, shuffling backward into the motel room as if preparing to bolt. “How do I know you’re- you’re you? Why are you wearing sunglasses?”

“I um- I can explain that you see-” Before he can so much as utter another word Ryan’s hand is flying toward him and snatching the offending shades from him, throwing them onto the ground where they shatter on impact. Ryan makes a horrible strangled sound and the water pistol starts to shake in his grasp, his eyes welling up. “Get away from me get the fuck away from me.” Ryan says, moving to slam the door but Shane jumps in the way, wedging himself between the door and the door frame. “Wait- Ry listen to-” Shane starts before he’s being squirted in the face with water as Ryan hurries back from the door. He brings his arms up in a sign of surrender, managing to shuffle into the dingy motel room and letting the door close behind him. Thankfully there’s no sizzling or skin melting off as a result of being drenched in what Shane guesses is probably holy water, but his face does feel a little hot. “Fucking-” Shane says, wiping the water from his eyes and blinking a few times. Ryan makes a little squeak. “Your eyes.” He says and the tears finally escape him, running train tracks down reddened cheeks. He lets the pistol fall from his grasp and sinks to his knees catching himself on the corner of the bed.

Shane drops down in front of him and pulls him into his arms, muttering as Ryan sobs. “It’s me baby it’s me I promise.” He implores Ryan. He wracks his brain desperately for any way he can convince him. “Remember when I first tried to talk to you? I told you not to freak out and you sort of did anyway. And when you played detective and tried to sneak around to find out stuff about me. You met Allie! You’re her favourite now by the way. Rude. When I didn’t want you to see me because you made me nervous, cause I could never compare to you or the idea of me all those stories conjured up. When I manifested for the first time when you came home on that night you stormed out just because I can’t say no to you. Remember all the nights we stayed up? 7-Eleven? Walmart? When you told me that dumb candle reminded you of me I was so happy I completely lost control. I wanted to kiss you so badly that night. And every night since.” He rambles into Ryan’s hair, rocking them back and forth. He shakes too. It feels wrong holding Ryan like he is while he feels himself falling apart. He has waited so long to feel this man in his arms, dragged himself through Hell for the chance to see his face again.

“ _Please,_ ” He begs, his grip on Ryan just a shade too tight. Ryan shuffles back enough to look at him. He looks exhausted and small, in the same sweater he was wearing the night Shane left him. “Please please please believe me, I love you so fucking much I can’t-” Shane chokes and before he can beg anymore, before he can grovel and plead and prostrate himself in supplication Ryan cuts him off, voice strong and sure. “I believe you.” He says. “I believe you. I believe you.” He says over and over again shaking hands reaching out and touching Shane everywhere he can reach. His hands, his arms, his chest. He runs his fingers through his tousled hair and cups his face between his palms, thumbs slipping across tear stained cheeks. He kisses him, hard, and Shane feels himself jolt in surprise. A bitten off gasp sounding like a prayer as Ryan leans against him, body hard and warm and _there_. He groans against his mouth, shaking hands latching onto his waist and his jaw, holding him softly, reverently, like an idol to be worshipped. They kiss and Ryan clambers into his lap, clinging where they sit slumped on the floor. He drowns in kiss after kiss between each one a fervent utterance of “I believe you.” whispered like an invocation. Ryan pulls back suddenly, and he’s still so close Shane’s eyes can’t focus so he closes them and sits, and waits, until whispered against his bitten lips there’s an “I love you” in his prayer’s wake. Shane breaks, clutches Ryan to him, arms a vice around his frame. He buries his face in the crook of his neck and breathes him in, wretched sobs clawing their way from him. Ryan holds him and Shane finally feels _everything_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested Azrael's parting words to Shane were from Psalm 37.
> 
> Sadly we've only got a few chapters left of this story and I'm super sad about it I don't wanna talk about it.  
> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments, and kudos here and asks on tumblr. You're all angels and I don't deserve you.  
> Don't be afraid to swing by the the ol' [tumblies](https://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/) we just have fun, share a few memes, I tell a few uninteresting anecdotes it's riveting stuff honest.


	18. Seventh Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane hasn't gotten off in over a year, give a guy a break yeah?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm sorry this took so long it was mother's day and then there was a right cock up with some medication related things and then there's the actual chapter that I had some difficulty with because, well it's a lil' spicy folks I'll say that.  
> I really super tried my best! Smut really isn't my forte even though I've written it before and more explicitly than this it's been a while. I hope the fact that it's got some fluff and is almost 1000 words longer than the usual somewhat makes up for any shortcomings.
> 
> As always thank you for your patience and your kindness, you're amazing thanks so much.

 

“So this whole thing has been like one giant supernatural custody battle?” Is the first thing that leaves Ryan’s mouth once Shane has spent the better part of an hour recounting most of his Hell related exploits. Most of it had been recalled in a monotonous intonation synonymous with the tone of voice a man might utilise if he hasn’t entirely processed the series of events that have transpired and is probably going to need a shit load of therapy to even begin to recover from it. It spills out of him, Ryan’s shaking fingers combing through his hair as Shane’s palms pet the warm skin of his sides from underneath his sweater. “Pretty much.” Shane hums, his eyelids drooping and he looks so soft and sleepy that Ryan sort of wants to let him sleep, wrap himself around him and finally let himself get some sleep too. But Shane stinks, a combination of being transported back to Earth from Hell of all places and going three days without a shower in his determination to find him. “Nuh uh nope buddy, no falling asleep until you actually shower you smell like shit.” Ryan says laughing and attempting to push him upright. Shane grips his waist a little tighter, clinging a little too petulantly for a grown man. A gasp escapes him unbidden, Shane’s hands big and warm and touching him like he’s something to be coveted, cherished.

Ryan is still reeling over the fact he finally gets to see him in the flesh, corporeal and real. He can barely comprehend the fact that he can touch him now and that Shane wants to touch him. Three days ago Ryan had been sure he’d lost him but now he has even more of him than before. He feels lucky. He feels blessed. Especially so when he gets to see his warm smile, his tousled hair that he may or may not now be responsible for. He gets to watch as Shane’s gaze drops to his mouth, letting him know unabashedly that he wants him. “Rude.” Shane mumbles, in a way so familiar to him it’s surprising how he didn’t see it before, how there was a time when Ryan wasn’t sure that Shane wanted this too. Ryan laughs, dragging him in for a smiling kiss before pushing him away again. “Shower. Your hair smells gross.” Shane groans, hauling himself up from the bed looking like someone’s grandpa as his joints click. He stretches and Ryan can’t help but let his eyes linger, tracing the line of Shane’s broad shoulders. “Hmm that’ll probably be the brimstone and burning flesh.” He says, running a hand through his hair and pulling so that it pretty much stands on end. He looks ridiculous, hair now towering a top his big head, like a troll doll. God he loves him, unfortunately.

Shane somehow manages to make the trip to the bathroom, barely a few feet, last practically three full minutes. Ryan just watches on, amused, letting Shane take his time. There is tightness in every line of him, a rigidity to his every movement that makes Ryan’s muscles ache just by looking at him. He’s smiling crookedly, dragging out the bit but Ryan can see how his hands shake, how every now and then he’ll twitch, agitated and still on high alert. “Shane.” He says softly, still smiling, unwilling to let Shane hear the concern that lurks underneath. “Go. I’ll be here.” Shane’s shoulders fall instantly and he nods, taking the last few steps into the bathroom quickly, the door closing behind him with a resounding click. A few moments later he hears the sound of the shower going and breathes out a sigh.

Shane is still clearly shaken, and Ryan is too. He’s barely slept or eaten these past few nights and about the only thing he has managed to do is shower. He sets about changing his clothes, something to do as he waits, and slips into a different pair of sweatpants and a loose, maroon sweater. Ryan doesn’t think it’s his, but he also doesn’t remember where it came from. Although the relief and elation is resounding, anxiety settles quickly under his skin. Shane has been practically glued to him since he arrived and as the minutes he spends in the shower mount, Ryan feels increasingly on edge. He knows that over time the feeling will dissipate, that they’ll grow accustomed to being together physically, learn to be apart without fear completely consuming them. However irrationally, that fear starts to seep in, even now, even though Ryan can hear him and knows Shane is only feet away, not being able to see or touch him is terrifying. Just hours ago he’d been doing nothing but laying with his eyes shut, Moonlight, the candle he’d bought, the scent that reminded him so much of Shane, lying open next to him on the bed as he’d prayed and prayed and prayed to every God he could think of. He doesn’t know if one of them answered, or which.

The anxiety gets the better of him and he tentatively knocks on the bathroom door. Shane has been in the shower for a while but he feels childish for worrying. “You okay in there?” He asks just as he hears the water shut off. He hovers outside the door, listening carefully for a reply but when one doesn’t come he thinks fuck it and tentatively opens the door. “Um yes hello I’m fine.” Shane says upon seeing Ryan peek around the door. He raises a confused eyebrow and upon seeing he’s completely fine Ryan feels really fucking dumb for barging in on him. Shane still has a hand on the button of his jeans, and he feels himself flush as he’s drawn to his long fingers. He coughs, keeps his eyes moving so he doesn’t get caught staring because wow okay Shane’s not wearing a shirt and yeah while he can see Hell’s done a number on him Ryan was not prepared for the cut of Shane’s hips, a sharp v accentuated by sharper hip bones. “I- sorry man I’ll-” He stutters, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants with a little more force than necessary. It’s almost as if he hasn’t spent a significant proportion of his time since Shane showed up with his tongue in his mouth. Shane raises an eyebrow at him, tossing his towel back over the rail. “Did you miss me that much?” He says with that infuriating crooked grin. _I’ve been missing you since I met you_ , Ryan thinks but it’s a sentiment much too big for this moment, for the playful glint in Shane’s eyes. “No I was just wondering if you’d drowned.” Ryan fires back, breath hitching as he gives in and finally lets his eyes linger. Shane’s chest is littered with small bruises and Ryan wants to play dot-to-dot with his mouth, mapping a path between them like constellations.

“No but I did almost knock myself out on the shower head.” Shane remarks, tilting his head and stepping into Ryan’s space, snaking an arm around his waist and pulling him closer, chest to chest. Ryan’s subsequent laugh rumbles through him and he delights in the feeling of a broad, warm palm settling on the small of his back like it’s always belonged there. He shivers and lets his fingertips brush up Shane’s rib cage and skitter across his chest. “They don’t make showers for giants.” He says, smiling brightly and the brief smitten look Shane gives him makes his heart skip in his chest. “I’ve been to Hell and back and this is the thanks I get.” Shane says dramatically, backing Ryan slowly out of the bathroom. He goes willingly. The steam from the shower still clings to Shane, his hair slightly wet and dishevelled. Ryan drags his fingers across the damp skin transfixed, a sweet ache unfurling, coiling up his spine and making the nape of his neck tingle with heat. He looks at Shane from underneath his eyelashes, a silent request that doesn’t go unheard if the way he can see the exact moment Shane's eyes darken is anything to go by. Shane tilts his head up with fingers beneath his chin and leans in close, and Ryan strains up to meet him, unsteady on tiptoes. His eyes threaten to close, fluttering, and Shane smirks at him teasingly. He huffs against his lips and feels Shane’s breath on his own when he chuckles, continuing to walk them backward.

Unwilling to be teased for much longer, Ryan tugs him down with a grin, kissing him so hard they topple backward. Their teeth clash painfully and Shane dangles precariously half on and half off the bed. Ryan pulls back with a peal of laughter, body trapped underneath Shane’s who holds on tight to avoid toppling to the floor. He can barely breathe with it, body curling inward with each giggle. Shane looks down at him with a wide grin, cheeks puffing up so that his eyes get squished up into little crescent moons. “Ow.” He says pointedly, ducking down to plant an open mouthed kiss to the crook of Ryan’s neck. It startles a gasp for him and he shudders, knee jerking upward dangerously. “For- Ryan d’you mind not trying to kick me in the dick?” Shane says with a laugh, leaning back and shuffling off the bed. Ryan cackles, sliding his way inelegantly up the bed to rest against the pillows, he’s smiling so hard his cheeks ache. He spreads out his arms, unable to stop his own snickering as he looks back at Shane, hovering at the end of the bed. He sits there awkwardly, watching Ryan with dark eyes, alight with mischief but looking nervous and overwhelmed. He looks delightfully mussed, cheeks a bright red, his hands rubbing anxiously up and down his thighs.

Something salacious purrs inside him at having made Shane look like that, like his brain is melting and slowly trickling out his ears. He’d be lying if he hadn’t thought about this before, about being the reason that hungry dumbfounded look lights up his face, and he’s pretty sure Shane must be familiar with the sound of those thoughts. But the poor guy only started actually being able to feel things again a few days ago so he decides to cut him some slack. “You okay there big guy?” He asks and Shane shakes his head, crawling gracelessly up the bed before flopping down next to him. He throws an arm melodramatically over his eyes. “No.” He says with a sigh. “I think the blood was trying to get to my dick so fast I’m having a stroke.” Ryan laughs unabashedly, his assessment confirmed and watches a slow grin break out on what he can see of Shane’s face. He’s embarrassed and Ryan is endlessly endeared. Ryan shuffles over to straddle him, settling his weight happily in his lap. He gently pulls his arm away fingertips brushing carefully over the fading brand on his arm. He slides his fingers across the delicate inside of his wrist to his palm, threading the fingers of their left hands together and pressing them back in the pillow. Shane watches him, rapturous the entire time and heat floods through him. “Hot.” He mutters with a smirk, rolling his hips and delights in the stuttering groan it elicits from him, fingers twitching against the pillow. A hand immediately finds its way to the nape of Ryan’s neck, long deft fingers burying themselves into his hair and tugging him down for a kiss. Shane’s mouth is dizzying and Ryan gasps as teeth nip at his bottom lip. His lips part in invitation and Shane wastes no time, angling Ryan’s head just how he wants him, teases him with his tongue and, until Ryan presses closer, taking what he wants. They pick up a lazy grind, the drag of Ryan’s cock against Shane’s even through the soft cotton and rough denim makes heat slink through him like warm honey, sweet and aching.

Breathy sounds tumble from him every time Shane rolls his hips up to meet his and he gets lost in it, feeling like sin even fully clothed all because of the way Shane looks at him, hands sliding across his thighs and underneath his sweater. He leans back, reveling in the way Shane looks looking up at him, keeping a seamless rhythm as his eyes flutter shut, Shane’s deep, staccato groans echoing in his ears. A moan is startled out of him as Shane grazes a palm over his clothed cock, he laughs, thrusts a little harder, the grind a little dirtier in a way that has Ryan rocking his ass back against him haphazardly, squirming in his lap. He lets out a petulant whine that he would be embarrassed about if it weren’t for the fact Shane is sliding his hand away but he’s sorry he ever doubted him when he slides both palms beneath his thighs and manhandles him up the bed as he props himself against the rickety headboard. Big hands pet over soft cotton almost in apology before they reach for the hem of Ryan’s sweater, tugging it off and throwing it to some unseen spot on the floor. Slowly, deliberately, Shane slides his hands back up Ryan’s thighs his eyes following their movement, dragging over his hip and round to the small of his back before he slips them beneath the waistband of Ryan’s sweatpants and squeezes his ass, controlling the roll of his hips, harder, quicker, filthier. “Jesus Christ.” He moans loudly, and there’s something weird about using the name of the saviour in this situation now that he knows he could be a very real entity. Shane seems nonplussed, craning forward to mouth at his neck, he spends a couple of minutes working a red bruise into the skin there that has Ryan biting back whimpers all the while. “Haven’t met him.” He pants against the heated skin, his voice so deep Ryan whines just at the sound of it. “Though I’ve been assured he’s a nice guy. Not a big fan of God though. Daddy issues.” He grazes his teeth across Ryan’s throat, laughs against his adam’s apple when Ryan slaps his shoulder and tugs at his hair. “For fuck sake Shane.” He grumbles, he’s getting impatient, losing control and making little aborted movements back into Shane’s hands. He’s unraveling in Shane’s hold and it annoyingly feels like he’s handing him a win. “Shut.” He grits out, swiveling his hip pointedly. Shane grunts beneath him, hands squeezing hard enough to bruise and it spurs him on. “Up.”

He hisses, the hard outline of Shane’s cock too much and not enough. He squeezes his thighs around Shane’s hips, pressing just right and feels his cock throb. He catches Shane biting his lip and he looks wrecked but not nearly enough. Ryan raises an eyebrow challengingly and Shane is uncharacteristically quiet, the only sounds leaving him are the harsh pants falling from his kiss reddened lips. He traces his hand across Shane’s abdomen, a desperate need to watch Shane writhe beneath him consumes him as he drags the flat of his palm across his clothed cock, feeling him hot and hard beneath the denim. “Fuck.” Shane grunts, canting his hips up into Ryan’s hand. His head falls back against the headboard with a thump, exposing the pale expanse of his throat. Shane’s hands move to grip tightly at his waist and the firm press of his fingers into his hips makes him whine, all plans to tease Shane flying out of the window as he scrambles to get the button of his jeans undone. He fumbles with the zip, huffing out a laugh as Shane wiggles unattractively to get his jeans and boxers half way down his thighs, unwilling to let go of his hold on Ryan. It’s uncoordinated and not sexy at all but Ryan gasps into his mouth, tugged forward by a hand on his hip as the other, sneaks under the waistband of his pants, dragging the soft and slightly tacky cotton down inch by tortuous inch. He curls his long fingers around him and squeezes, the slow drag of skin against skin makes him dizzy with arousal. He pants, buries his face in the crook of Shane’s neck to muffle a moan, his hot breath hitting the sweat damp skin there. “Fuck, Ryan so good.” Shane growls wrapping his hand around both of them.

Ryan looks down, forehead pressed against Shane’s collarbone, sees the hard length of Shane’s dick pressed against his own and groans. It’s so fucking hot, and Ryan can’t help but rock his hips in time with the rhythm of Shane’s hand, so big wrapped around them both, his other holding onto his waist like he’s something precious. It’s strange how he touches him so sweetly even as deft fingers twist just so and a moan tumbles from him before he can even attempt to bite it back. A dam seems to break in Shane and he starts muttering, sweet nothings spilling from him as he picks up the pace, thumb brushing a bead of precum from the head of his cock, making the slide of his hand slicker. “C’mon baby.” He groans against Ryan’s ear and he squeezes his eyes shut with a whimper the sight of both their cocks pressed together in Shane’s grasp too fucking filthy. He rolls his hips desperately, chasing the friction, the building pressure in the base of his spine. “So gorgeous Ry fuck-” He coos, voice stuttering and strained, little noises escape him with every tightening stroke and Ryan feels himself light up from the praise. “Just- just like that- fuck I’m-” Heat sings through him, twisting in his gut as his back arches pressing him impossibly closer to Shane as he comes, spilling over Shane’s hand and abdomen. He comes moments later, a rumbling moan pressed hotly against Ryan’s ear making him shiver as he comes down, feeling Shane tremble slightly beneath him. He’s disappointed he didn’t have the presence of mind to watch but he’s sure there’ll be plenty more opportunities to watch Shane fall apart.

Ryan buries his hands in Shane’s hair kissing him once, twice, three times before pulling back to look at him. He looks well fucked, his hair a mess, all bright eyes and kiss bitten lips. They shimmy silently back into their pants, an awkward manoeuvring of limbs as Ryan is unwilling to vacate his spot on Shane’s lap and Shane himself only has one clean hand to work with. He wrinkles his nose and Ryan laughs as he sort of flails his come covered hand around in the air a bit before ultimately deciding to sacrifice the sheets beneath them to the cause.

“You need another shower now.” Ryan mumbles, sleepy and sated. Shane flutters kisses across his collarbone and groans as if in protest. “That’d involve moving.” He says, voice deep and mellow. “Like you here.” He says rubbing broad palms up and down his sides. Ryan feels like he’s being petted but oddly doesn’t mind it, feeling safe and warm. “It’s just big enough for two.” He says and he can hear his own laugh bouncing off the walls as Shane tries in vain to haul them both off the bed. He tugs them both into the bathroom, stumbling over his too long legs and practically slamming the door closed behind him. This time around Shane doesn’t have to fear concussing himself on the shower head because he spends the whole time on his knees.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spicy or like your leftovers haven't been reheated in the microwave correctly?  
> Thanks for sticking with this chapter, I hope you enjoyed the boys getting jiggy with it in their awkward glory.
> 
> Thanks again for all the kudos and comments, some of you are writing such long beautiful messages and I'll honest to god treasure them for the rest of my days.
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/) if you fancy, I have a tag on there for this fic that you can flick through and see some wonderful art and a playlist from some very talented folk!


	19. No Rest for the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going home. The same but different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again! Back at it for the home stretch!

Ryan wakes up after only an hour of sleep, content in the half light of the shitty motel room. Mottled light from the street lights and neon sign beyond the window seeps in through the thin curtains making the dated room look equal parts seedy and serene. Sleepily, he plants a kiss on the nearest part of the body beside him that he can reach which turns out to be Shane’s side. He initially thinks that he must’ve slipped down the bed while he was sleeping but the gentle hand playing with his hair tells him that Shane is also awake. When he shifts to glance up at him he almost shits himself. Even in the dim light Ryan can still see that Shane’s eyes are that ominous pitch black. Light from passing car headlights catches on them as he stares unseeing at the front door, like he’s watching and waiting for something. It’s an unnerving juxtaposition, how Shane stares so intently, face blank and cold as his touch remains achingly tender.

“Shane? Buddy, you okay?” Ryan whispers propping himself up on an elbow and tapping his chest to get his attention. Shane seems to startle, sucking in a deep breath like he’d momentarily forgotten to breathe. He visibly deflates against the lumpy mattress, eyes blinking rapidly, flickering from the inky blackness to his usual warm brown. “I- yeah I’m fine. Go back to sleep.” He says, voice dazed and distant. Ryan just shakes his head and tugs on Shane’s arm until he’s laying down properly, head tucked underneath Ryan’s chin. He exhales shakily against his shoulder and he throws an arm around his waist, squeezes tight like a vice before relaxing minutely. “Gonna tell me what’s going on in that big head of yours?” Ryan asks tentatively, pressing a kiss to Shane’s hair. It’s sickeningly sweet but he can’t find it within himself to be embarrassed. Shane just grumbles petulantly, as unwilling to put his worries into words as ever. “I don’t want to sleep.” He mumbles but Ryan has a feeling he still isn’t exactly saying what he means to. He takes the risk of asking for clarification, walking that fine line between encouraging and pushing. “Don’t want to or you’re afraid to?” Shane’s silence is answer enough. He shifts uncomfortably on the bed, pulling away as if he can’t take the contact any longer. Ryan lets him and he moves to lay flat on his back, eyes shut as he rubs his face with still shaking hands.

“It feels like death.” He says frankly, his throat bobs as he swallows, his entire body radiating fear. “Slipping into nothingness? I know it’s just sleep, that I’ll wake up again but it doesn’t feel like that.” He grits his teeth, the tell tale sign that he’s getting frustrated, at himself more than anything. The logical part of him at war with how it all makes him feel. Ryan worries that they’ve moved too fast, that this will be too much for Shane, for the both of them. “You need to sleep now though Shane.” Ryan says gently and he tries to keep his distance, doesn’t want to overwhelm him with too much all at once.

“I know.” Shane says quietly, his voice cracking “I’m just so fucking scared that this is all gonna disappear. That this is just some elaborate scenario I’ve dreamed up and the next time I wake up I’ll be in a box six feet under.” His chest heaves, he looks distraught, the almost mirror image of himself when he’d opened up about his cause of death. Shane has spent the last year longing to live again, imagining a life for himself in his quiet moments, conjuring up sensations that aren’t there. Now all of these things are a reality, he has it all, the sensations and sounds, a life and a future and he can scarcely believe it. “This is real.” Ryan says firmly, he takes his hand and places it over Shane’s heart so he can feel his own heart beat. “No offense but you died. You were 100% dead, certified deceased.”

“Well duh.” Shane says with a small watery smile, rolling his eyes and entwining their fingers where both of their hands rest atop his chest.

“But you aren’t anymore. That’s crazy. It’s fucking insane and it’s gonna take some getting used to. For the both of us.” Shane nods, lifting up their joined hands and placing a tentative kiss to the back of Ryan’s. He looks nervous and shy as he does it and it’s sweet really. Ryan doesn’t know if Shane had been an affectionate man before death but he certainly feels privileged to have his attention, his devotion, despite how lopsided and awkward it can be.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but you’re right.” Shane sighs heavily, screwing up his face in disgust as if the very words leave an incredibly sour taste in his mouth. Ryan can feel his answering grin stretch across his face as he leans in to plant a fleeting kiss on Shane’s forehead. Shane’s expression morphs into an odd combination of his previous disgust and newfound awe. Ryan snorts. “See you finally admitted it! And did it kill you?” He asks and then immediately gasps, realising exactly what he’s just said. He panics briefly but it melts away the moment he meets Shane’s eyes. His laughter is the warmest sound he’s ever heard.

 

* * *

 

For all his complaining the night before Shane is almost insufferably grumpy when Ryan tries to wake him early the next afternoon. They really should get going. Ryan’s leave of absence from work is only for so long and there’s no reason for them to spend any longer than they absolutely have to in dingy motels when they have a perfectly comfortable apartment. _They_. They have an apartment. _Together_. Oh boy that’s gonna take some getting used to.

Eventually Shane’s snuffling snores morph into a gargantuan yawn that is one of the grossest things he’s ever seen. “Seriously dude I could see your tonsils just then.” Ryan says laughing as he tugs at the arm Shane is using to rub the sleep out of his eyes, he looks rumpled and soft and Ryan feels something flutter in his stomach at the sight of him. “No you couldn’t look stop-” he says voice deep and scratchy with sleep, he shakes his arm to get Ryan to stop trying to tug him from the bed “I don’t have tonsils anymore.” He mumbles blinking blearily at the ceiling. “Also I’m blind.”

“What?” Ryan laughs confused.

“I wear glasses or contacts. Not currently seeing a lot in HD.” Shane says. He wiggles his fingers in front of his face and then stretches his arm out toward the ceiling and squints at his hand. “Surely it’s not that bad.” Ryan says, walking over to his bag and rummaging around inside it. “You drove here.”

“I did.” Shane replies with a shrug, looking only slightly sheepish. Ryan makes a small noise of triumph and shuffles back over to the bed, a small case in his hands. He pops it open and hands the clear frames to Shane. He looks at them with a weird little smile before slipping them on, pushing them up his aquiline nose until they rest at the bridge. “Better?” Ryan asks, and he’s suddenly struck with how much he wants to wake up like this every morning. To have Shane warm and smiling at him, glasses on and hair a mess, to be kissed with morning breath, the sleepy timbre of Shane’s pleased hum vibrating against his lips.

“Gross.” He mutters, pulling back and wrinkling his nose in disgust. Shane just laughs and let’s Ryan pull him up from the bed.

“You love it.” Shane says smiling.

“I definitely don’t.” Ryan says rolling his eyes.

“You love me.” Shane says, aiming for teasing but it comes out more as a question, something desperate in his guarded expression. They haven’t talked about this. They’ve technically confessed but in the light of morning the words suddenly seem bigger than they did when they were huddled together on the floor in the early hours, holding on to each other like if they let go they’d cease to exist. “I do.” He answers truthfully, because he does and has, for a while now. Shane freezes for a second before kissing him, fierce and claiming in a way that has fire licking up Ryan’s spine until he’s whimpering against his mouth. “Oh my G- go Shane, Christ at this rate we’ll never get out of here.” Ryan laughs pushing him away.

He acquiesces to Ryan’s pushing and makes his way to the bathroom without much further prodding. Ryan knows he’s rushing them, that they still have plenty of time but he can’t stop, anxious energy and giddy excitement courses through him and he dithers about the room as Shane showers. He wants to be home, desperately. He packs his bag meticulously, lingering on every item he puts away, to pass the time. Shane makes him jump when he eventually emerges from the bathroom, arms snaking around his waist, his chin resting on top of his head. “Whatcha got there?” He asks and peers down to see Ryan holding his candle. He doesn’t say anything in reply, just puts it away carefully, and zips up the bag. Shane doesn’t mention it, just presses a kiss to Ryan’s temple. “Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

Ryan drives. He doesn’t trust Shane behind the wheel even if he did drive to find him in the first place, not with the way his eyes keep fluttering shut. A few hours sleep is not enough for a newly reborn 6’4” guy that hasn’t actually had to handle the exertions of the physical world in over a year. A couple of hours in they stop at a dilapidated looking diner. Shane practically chugs coffee from the moment they slide into a booth and inhales more food than he’s entirely sure a human being is capable of consuming. It’s gross. Not even the cute, endearing kind of gross it’s just straight up revolting. He’s in love with the guy sitting opposite him, wild look in his eyes as egg clings to his stubble and syrup drips from his chin. Shane rolls his eyes every time Ryan makes a vaguely disgusted sounding noise, sipping his own coffee and eating his waffles like a normal person. He’s at least a little embarrassed by the mess of himself he’s making, Ryan can tell by how red the tips of his ears are but he doesn’t seem to be able to control himself. Ryan supposes he can cut him some slack, he’d be likely to go to town too if he hadn’t eaten properly for as long as Shane has. When he’s done Shane wipes his face clean and pushes his multiple plates away with a groan that definitely shouldn’t do things to Ryan but it does and he probably should start accepting the fact that the strangest things about Shane can get him going. Shane raises an eyebrow at him and Ryan asks for their check before he can start his relentless teasing.

When they get back on the road Shane calls Allie and only a couple of minutes into the call they have to pull over somewhere. The tears start almost immediately, so much so that they blur Ryan’s vision and he can’t drive. They curl up in the backseat with her on speakerphone. “I’m here.” Shane says, choking back tears. “I’m alive, I’m coming home.”

“Oh my precious boy.” Allie cries into the receiver and Shane breaks, hold on the phone going limp. Ryan takes it out of his grasp and tries his best to comfort them both but he really only makes soothing noises into the phone. The release of emotion is needed and when the tears finally turn into soft sniffles Shane’s eyelids are heavy with exhaustion. “Did you kiss him yet?” Allie asks Shane and he turns bright red, uncharacteristically coy. “I kissed him.” Ryan says and grins at the sound of Allie’s answering cackle.

“Attaboy!” She says and asks about their reunion. The amount of joy Allie gets out of the fact that Ryan doused Shane with holy water makes them both laugh even if Shane sleepily pretends to be annoyed about it. They skip over their more... intimate moments but they apparently don’t do a very good job at masking the gaps because Allie asks them about it outright. “Allie!” They practically chorus at which she cackles again. Shane starts a quiet mortified mantra of ‘oh God oh no no no’ like he’s a teenager listening to his mom make a hack job of the birds and bees discussion and not a 31 year old man being teased by his neighbour. “What, I was young and in love once!” She says, the smile in her voice so evident that it has both Ryan and Shane smiling too.

“Alright alright, we’ve gotta go Allie. Gotta get back on the road.” Shane says, clearing his throat and trying to compose himself. “We’ll see you when we’re home.” He says, voice cracking on the word ‘home’ tellingly.

“Okay boys.” She says in reply. “Eyes on the road and hands on the wheel Ryan!” She says, shameless. Ryan sputters in embarrassment as Shane looks at him, grinning from ear to ear with that familiar mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he leans in to press a fleeting dry kiss to his jaw. “Yeah _Ryan_.” He says and Ryan doesn’t resist the urge to hit him in the arm, delighted that his hand no longer sinks through his it but actually makes contact, causing Shane to wince over exaggeratedly. They say their goodbyes and climb back up front.

They settle into a contented silence, and even though Ryan finds himself missing the gentle timbre of Shane’s voice, just being near him, quiet and calm, feels like a miracle. Shane falls asleep in the passenger seat pretty quickly, limbs scrunched up awkwardly but he looks at peace where his temple is pressed against the window. He seems more relaxed but it feels as though their current states may just be the calm before the storm. Shane is still Shane. He’s alive again but the slate hasn’t been wiped clean. All of that, the pain, the isolation, the numbness, it doesn’t just go away. He’ll have to learn to live again, how to make this work, how to cope.

He drives and drives, nothing to keep him company but the indistinguishable sounds of the radio, volume turned down low. Ryan spares Shane a glance every now and again, telling himself it’s just to look, not out of fear that the next time he looks over he won’t be there. The long stretches of back road all seem to blur together, looking exactly the same with each twist and turn. He forces himself to stay alert, thinking idly that they should find somewhere to stop soon as night rapidly approaches. Shane shifts in his seat, stirring from sleep with what looks like a crick in his neck by the way he rubs at it with a wince. Ryan looks over to smile at him and the whole world seems to carreen into slow motion. Shane’s eyes go wide and terrified. “Ryan!” He yells, frantic and Ryan follows his gaze, yanks on the steering wheel just quick enough to avoid hitting the dark figure in the middle of the darkened road. He loses control and the car slides in the misting rain. The tires squeal across the asphalt pitching the car off the road and into the trees. The car slams to a halt with a sickening crunch and Ryan’s vision swims, darkness encroaching. The last thing he sees is his car door being ripped clean off, the scraping of metal a lullaby as he tumbles into unconsciousness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one. I promise this is just a tiny cliffhanger okay don't hate me we're good.
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments as usual they warm my heart. We're about 2-3 chapters away from wrapping this up and I'm sad about it. Hit me up on [tumblr](https://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/) to chat or check out some art and playlists for this fic! Also if you've got any prompts you'd like me to take a stab at you can shoot those over too!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	20. At Wit's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murder most FABULOUS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _'O son, how many bodies have we to pass through, how many bands of demons, through how many series of repetitions and cycles of the stars, before we hasten to the One alone?'_
> 
> **Trigger warnings:** mild gore.

Ringing. He hears nothing but ringing and muffled groans. His head pounds as he tries to shy away from the deployed airbag. The impact has made him dizzy and his glasses have cracked, he’s pretty sure there’s blood trickling down from the bridge from where the frames have been slammed into his face. His poor nose really can’t catch a break. Looking out the smashed window into the trees is like looking through a dull kaleidoscope, he blinks, takes a minute to move his head carefully, to look to his left. Ryan is being dragged limply from the car and Shane knows that’s not good, definitely not good and panic seizes up in his chest. _Fuck careful_ he thinks and he has to get out, get out right now, he pushes the airbag out of the way and fumbles to undo his seat belt. His torso screams at him in protest, a dull throbbing ache starting in his right shoulder that spikes as he hauls the passenger side door open. There are no flashing lights or sirens indicative that anyone has called this in, the person hauling Ryan from the wreckage is someone else. A kind but clueless passerby? Or something else.

Shane is pretty sure it’s the latter, the dark figure, alone in the middle of the road, too familiar for comfort. More than scare him it pisses him off. He blinks and blinks as he stumbles from the car, trying to focus, to get his vision to stop blurring and his head to stop spinning. Vertigo overtakes him and he falls to his knees, slamming into the asphalt. He gasps in a breath, fighting back the nausea and exhaustion. He growls in frustration, dragging himself up again with a palm pressed flat against the trunk of the car. “Hey!” He calls once he’s fully upright, a figure sits huddled by the roadside, a black shape hovering over them. “Well, well, well look who’s finally decided to join us.” A now unmistakable voice mocks him and well if he wasn’t pissed off before he certainly is now. “The prodigal man returns.”

“Oh fuck off.” Shane spits. He’s done with this pretentious douchebag of a demon, the draughtsman of human fate or whatever he couldn’t care less. He strides unsteadily to Ryan’s side, kneeling in front of him to find him relatively unscathed just... Out of it. He’s conscious enough to hold himself up but he seems dazed, only a brief glimmer of recognition in his eyes when Shane tilts his chin up to get a look at him. He looks unhurt, a few cuts and scrapes but being dragged out of the car can’t have been a pleasant experience. “Or what?” James asks snidely “You’ll kill me?”

“There’s no ‘or’ about it.” Shane replies getting back to his feet. He stumbles a little and it’s not nearly as menacing as he hoped it’d be. James laughs at him.

“Ahh what little puppy gets himself a flaming stick and thinks he’s a big man?” James says mockingly. Shane punches him in the face. It hurts. He hasn’t punched many people in his lifetime and he’s still not the fighting type but _God_ does it feel good. He shakes out his hand with a hiss, smiles when he hears Ryan’s cackling laughter from the ground behind him, a sign that he’s coming to a little. His hand will likely bruise, it was a bad hit and probably hurt him more than it did James but it was so satisfying. There’s nothing more visceral than punching someone that could literally tear you apart. Except it makes him mad, ridiculously so and Shane has the audacity to laugh as James’ form judders into something grotesque, his whole form seeming to pulsate from searingly bright light to the deepest darkness. He feels his throat being squeezed shut, his body being lifted off the ground. The only thing he can distinguish in front of him as the blood begins to pound in his ears are the shiny soulless eyes of the beast before him. There is new terror in looking into those eyes because of how much they remind him of his own.

He flexes his left hand, closing his eyes as he tries to remember what it felt like to have that ‘flaming stick’ in his hand. His focus wavers, blood rushing in his head as he struggles for breath. He hears a distant gurgle, a choking and is alarmed to find it is in fact coming from him. He fights against the fuzziness, the telltale static-like feeling that encroaches as consciousness begins to slip from his grasp. Just as he thinks he’s about to pass out he feels something heavy seemingly drop into his left hand and his fingers curl around the cold object instinctively. His right hand twitches as the grip on his throat starts to loosen, and suddenly there is a warm palm in his. He gasps, eyes opening to see a look of sheer panic in the black eyes before him and Shane feels a sick surge of delight as he feels his feet hit the ground. Ryan’s voice reaches his ears, lilting and melodic in that now familiar foreign tongue. The words scratch at his skin, like paper cuts and his mind feels as though its rusting as he listens. He struggles to focus on anything but the warm hand in his, the cold metal in the other and his feet firmly back on the ground.

James’ lets him go, stumbling backward. He freezes. He looks like rage personified, a seething mass of white hot light that writhes and shifts from something almost human to a mess of blackened flesh, shrouded in decay and deigned with a halo. It hurts to look at him but neither Shane or Ryan even think about looking away. Shane finds that he couldn’t even if he tried. His body is fixed firmly in place, like it’s being pulled taut by a string on top of his head. He guesses it’s this force that’s probably the only thing holding him up right now, as every breath he takes aches in his chest and throat, his limbs feeling heavy. Ryan’s voice has progressed from a liliting lullaby to a roar, voice amplified unnaturally and his grip tight on Shane’s hand. The ground seems to shake, jarring and unearthly but still Ryan stands, resolute and unwavering and alight like a solar flare. He can feel the heat radiating from him and it hums through Shane’s hand, dripping like molten gold through his frozen form as he watches almost transfixed as James’ mutilated form lopes closer. Shane wants to back away, he wants as much distance between them and the thing James has become but Ryan doesn’t move, even when Shane’s muscles twitch, fingers flexing around his own. “Ryan.” He manages to grit out, apprehensive but he feels as though something has bound his bones together, fused his joints until any attempt to move his limbs feels like trying to move old, metal joins, stiff and crumbled with rust.

James is begging. Looking more akin to the tar monster from Scooby-Doo than anything human. Black soulless eyes stare up at Ryan imploringly, cold even as it begs for its life. Shane still isn’t even sure what exactly Ryan is reciting, when he’d committed it to memory, but he knows if its having an effect on him it must be wreaking havoc with James. Ryan finally stops abruptly and Shane sucks in a breath, his whole body swaying as it’s suddenly released. “What are you begging for?” Ryan asks the pitiful creature before them, voice more callous and fierce than Shane has ever heard it before. “For me to stop? For your life?” He spits and James’ reply is unintelligible. Still it sounds like a plea for mercy. A clawed and mangled hand reaches out toward him but he kicks it away, mouth curling in disgust.

Shane feels no pity for the demon in front of them. He feels no sympathy as its agonised cries echo in the oppressive night that now surrounds them. He feels only the anger and bitterness and pain he’d felt as he’d watched this entity take _his_ form, say the words that belonged to _him_ , share the secret of _his_ heart that wasn’t its to tell. He feels only the hopeless torment of Hell, that endless train car, full of horrors beyond the imaginings of most. How many of those souls had even deserved to be there? He looks down to his left, the short sword still gripped firmly by his pale and shaking hand. “Ryan.” He says quietly and he turns to look at him. Ryan’s dark eyes seem to flicker with power, his whole body coiled tight, primed for a fight. There is anger and fear in the set of his jaw and Shane knows then that they’re both on the same page. He lets go of Ryan’s hand and steps toward James, holding the point of his sword to what he assumes is its throat. He can see the flames on the blade dancing in those lifeless eyes and feels power unlike anything he’s ever felt. His body is bruised and bleeding but this - this is euphoria. Ryan’s archaic utterances begin anew and beneath it surges his own ethereal power, his gift.

“He may be God’s chosen,” Shane says, voice as hard and cold as steel “and I may be marked by Heaven and Hell,” he presses the point of his blade forward, watching an oil like substance ooze from the small wound it makes “but this is what it means to be human.” He shifts his weight and the sword slides further and further into the throat of the writhing being before him. Blackness spits and sizzles, like congealing blood boiling and frothing as the flames of the blade engulf James’ form. The screams are ungodly. Shane pulls the sword free and watches it fade, stinging as it burns itself back into his skin.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there watching the burning mass reduce to cinders, the chilly night breeze carries its embers away and into the trees. Eventually it falls silent and he can feel the tight squeeze of Ryan’s arms around his waist, the steady rise and fall of his chest against his back. This is what it means to be human.

 

* * *

 

They have to call Allie again and tell her they’ll be a little late for dinner, like a day or so. They tell her they were in an accident, nothing to worry about, but they know the lie was probably unnecessary, Allie always knows the truth somehow. They get themselves some medical attention, the wreckage dealt with, the insurance (miraculously) handled, and a rental arranged for the trip home. How exactly Shane had insurance in his name on a car he just found at a gas station is beyond him but he’s no longer a man that questions miracles, that much is for certain. The rest of the drive is uneventful, a bizarre sort of road trip back toward the ‘City of Angels’ and boy does that name seem apt after everything they’ve been through.

They eat fast food and at diners of varying quality. Spend a night at a motel and Ryan sears the memory of Shane’s body, bathed in neon and sweat into his mind. Shane savours the quiet moments in the car, hands clasped together over the console or one of Ryan’s hands resting on his thigh. It feels like living. In the racing raindrops on his passenger window. In the fluorescent lights and linoleum of another diner. In the eerie chime of the bell above the door of a gas station. In the creak of the double bed in a barren motel room. It’s sight and sense in all its mundane and limitless glory, the bizarre and banal, merging like the condensation on a fogged up bathroom mirror. Shane revels in it. Even when he wakes from a nightmare, shaking and crying he can’t believe he’s awake. He cherishes the experience good or bad, like a particularly horrendous hot dog. Sure shitting his entire asshole out wasn’t fun but at least his body functions now, there’s some weird fucked up wonder in having bodily functions again, even the gross ones.

Ryan says he’ll break up with him if he talks about shitting one more time. “Why are you smiling when I just threatened to break up with you?” Ryan says with a disbelieving laugh, fingers tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel that matches the song pouring from the radio. “‘Cause it implies we’re together.” Shane says feeling a lot insecure even as his face aches from smiling so hard.

“Of course-” Ryan starts and then rolls his eyes, glancing briefly over to look at Shane in the passenger seat “You died, endured my shitty attempt at necromancy, got beat up by a demon, went through literal Hell, came back to life, survived a car accident and murked a demon I think the least I can do is call you my fucking boyfriend.” Shane’s laughter is so loud he’s sure the passengers of the passing cars can hear him. “Mmm seems fair.” He hums leaning back in his seat with a smile.

 

* * *

 

Shane’s palms are so sweaty when they finally turn onto their street. He can feel his heart in his throat and he bounces his knee up and down so hard he hits the bottom of the dashboard with it every time. Ryan makes small talk at the wheel, chattering away about what he’s got lined up for when he gets back to work, all the things that Shane can get involved in seeing as they know he’ll be working there now from the employee ID they found in his wallet. He can tell Ryan’s excited. Shane is too, really he is, even though guilt still gnaws at him, he’s overjoyed to be home again, in more than one sense of the word.

They pull into the parking lot and just sit for a while in the car, the engine off and the radio silent. Ryan turns to face him quietly, just watching him with warm and understanding eyes as Shane stares at the building in front of him. It feels familiar yet different, like he’s seeing it all with new eyes. In a daze he throws open the car door and steps out, Ryan following his lead. He takes his hand tentatively as they make their way up the steps to the front door. Ryan pulls it open for them and Shane wanders inside, eyes flitting around the dated foyer like he’s never seen it before. He moves toward the mailboxes, tugging Ryan along behind him. Shaking fingertips brush across the names until they stop and Shane covers his mouth, eyes blinking rapidly. Ryan’s eyebrows furrow in concern but Shane doesn’t say anything, just waits until Ryan moves to see what he’d been looking at. “Bergara and... Madej.” He reads breathlessly, their names both listed on the mailbox for the apartment.

“I saw that this morning.” A voice sounds from the stairway that has Shane moving faster than he’s probably ever moved in his life. “Allie!” He yells and she’s already crying by the time Shane has her in his arms. She leans up on her tiptoes, soft and wrinkled hands on his scruff covered cheeks so she can get a proper look at him, just like before, just like always. “Thank heavens, thank heavens.” She says, smiling brightly and Shane laughs, pulls her into his chest rocking them back and forth. He tugs Ryan into a group hug, pressing a kiss to his forehead. They stand there holding onto each other as the sun moves across the faded, patterned carpet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REUNITED AND IT'S FUCKING FINALLY NO ONE'S DEAD APART FROM AN ASSHOLE DEMON FINALLY.
> 
> Thank you for reading and all the kudos and comments you've left/may be inclined to leave I really appreciate it! Please do mosey on over to my [tumblr](https://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/) and leave me a prompt or check out my a ghoul's guide tag that's got some fab art in it as well as a playlist by some really fab folks!


	21. After Afterlife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being alive? Easy. Living? Living is a little more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warnings:** descriptions of a panic attack.
> 
> So here we are. The end of the road. The aftermath of an afterlife. I won't bog down the chapter too much here but thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your support, all the hits, the kudos, the comments, the bookmarks, all of it, it has meant the world to me.

Life, as the old adage states, goes on. It isn’t easy, it never has been and it never will be. Easier? Sure, maybe. Just straight up easy peasy? Not likely. By virtue of simply being alive again things are starting to look up. Being alive? Easy. Living? Living is a little more complicated.

Dinner with Allie is easy. Kissing Ryan is easy. Closing his eyes and feeling the warm L.A sun on his face is easy. Life doesn’t quite resume from where he left it but it doesn’t quite begin anew. He has a new job, a new relationship but when he reunites with friends and family it’s as if he never left. Shane weirds a lot of people out the next time he sees them. It’s not unusual, he weirds people out in general, he does it all the time. He’s a weird guy. When he hangs out with family and friends again, who appear to have no recollection of his death, and almost starts crying on sight they start to get a little concerned. To them, hardly any time has passed since they last saw or heard from him and how exactly that’s possible is a feat entirely incomprehensible to him. He learns not to question it, even though it goes against his very nature. He lets himself sink into the joy of spending time with the people that mean the most to him and he’s thankful for every minute he has with them, reminded of every minute of the last year that he went without their company.

He’s so desperate to embrace life again that he quickly overwhelms himself, always clinging, always terrified of the moment it will be ripped away. He wakes up and finds himself in the rattling, steel grave of that endless subway train and wakes again in agony, drenched in sweat and tears and their twisted sheets. L.A can be loud and bright and often it’s too much, too much and too soon. Between the fear of burdening Ryan and the suffocating sensation of being overwhelmed by the intensity of the living world he starts to lose his grip. The apartment feels different, he can’t seem to settle and he feels like he’s relying too heavily on Ryan. Ryan is patient with him, painfully so. Helping him when the intensity of the light freezes him in place, when there’s so much noise he can’t focus on a conversation he’s having. He’s there, squeezing his hand, helping him refocus, filter out the white noise. Old and new fears vyy for his attention and he voices some of them, an improvement from how he would’ve dealt with them before. Ryan suggests they try living separately for a little while and Shane insists on being the one to stay in a cheap hotel room for a while. It’s fine, it really is and Shane manages much like he did before. He goes to work, he sees Ryan there. They leave together, get dinner together. They hang out at the apartment but then Shane returns to the generic four walls of his hotel room.

Silence settles in and he tries everything to stave off the itching anxiety. It’s bearable, but not ideal. Shane would much rather stay curled up with Ryan on the couch or wake up next to him every morning than call the emptiness of his hotel room home. It’s worse when he panics, alone with every minute sound from the surrounding guests setting his teeth on edge, sending him spiraling. He sits down and tries to breathe until the shaking stops and he can begin anew.

The nightmares are harder, more insidious and they sneak up on him much like sleep itself. The lack of peaceful sleep makes him irritable, worsening any anxiety and making every day sights and sounds harsher, less tolerable. He knows Ryan notices, worries, but he has his own dark circles shadowing his bright eyes. Sleep becomes something he dreads but the exhaustion is inescapable. He returns to his hotel room strung out and drained. He spends most of his nights staring at the dark ceiling until he succumbs. Except tonight. Tonight he blinks and when his eyelids flutter open again it’s accompanied by the sound of screams.

He stands in the open doorway to Ryan’s room, in just a t-shirt, sweatpants and a pair of boots with absolutely no recollection of how in the fuck he got there. He feels viscerally numb until Ryan’s quivering voice catches his attention. “Shane?” Ryan asks, kneeling on the bed, a look of terror and confusion marring his features. Shane struggles to breathe, the breaths coming too short and he sways, stumbling. He thinks Ryan calls his name again but Shane can barely hear him over the rushing sound in his ears. He tries to speak but his mouth feels dry and tacky. The fear and panic claw at him and it feels like his mind is being broken apart with a sledgehammer, pieces of it shattering and splintering. He sinks to the floor, afraid he’ll fall as the room starts to spin.

Ryan’s voice is loud. The rustle of the sheets is loud. His footsteps and the distant sound of passing cars and police sirens are loud. He grits his teeth, clasping his hands over his ears as he feels Ryan approach him tentatively. Ryan softly touches his shoulder and he flinches away immediately. He wants the opposite, wants to be held so tightly it’ll slot the splintered remnants of his mind back together, but his brain screams otherwise, the additional sensation too much. He tries to look at Ryan and something in his expression must convey his distress, his remorse and frustration and longing because Ryan’s eyes are soft and full of understanding when Shane can finally meet his gaze. “It’s okay. I know, you’re okay, you’re safe. You just scared me that’s all.” He says quietly, kneeling in front of him. Shane let’s himself look at him. The stubble gracing his jaw, his bed mussed hair and tired eyes. Just looking at him is a comfort. The shivering doesn’t stop however, and he frowns, huffs frustrated in between short breaths. Ryan’s answering chuckle is a sweet and familiar sound. “Only you could find a way to be mad during a panic attack.” Ryan says with a smile. Shane swallows, once and then again before he can finally speak, voice hoarse and quiet but there nonetheless. He doesn’t feel quite so much like he’s dying anymore and he realises that that’s probably why he was so terrified in the first place.

“Stupid.” He croaks out, feeling a fool but Ryan just shakes his head at him and holds his hand out, ready for him to take.

“Don’t say that.” He says quietly, smiling at him when Shane takes his outstretched hand, his own palm probably sweaty. “It’s okay. We’re okay. What do you need?” Ryan asks and Shane is forced to think about it, what would help the aching in his chest dissipate.

“Water,” he says, “and sleep and can we put a blanket up over the window?”

“You wanna sleep here?” Ryan asks, his thumb stroking back and forth over the back of Shane’s hand. He nods and Ryan looks ecstatic in the dim light. He helps him to his feet, still shaking but the vertigo has faded and his breaths come a little steadier. Under the soft weight of their sheets he relaxes, little by little, the pillows permeated with the scent of Ryan’s shampoo and he closes his eyes. He only opens them again when he feels Ryan slip in beside him, his touch is gentle, soothing, and Shane finally drifts to sleep again to the sound of his heartbeat.

The next day Shane checks out of his hotel. It feels like defeat but as always Allie tells him I told you so, resilience is something you build, not something you gain simply from isolating yourself from those who support you. She’s right. She’s always right. Ryan buzzes with excitement when he turns up at the apartment, duffel bag in tow. He’s immediately pulled into a kiss, a nervous “I missed you” pressed against his lips and he holds him a little tighter. Guilt threatens to consume him as he remembers how many late night phone calls he’s received from a terrified Ryan, waking up to an empty bed, an empty apartment and panicking, thinking the worst. He tries to apologise but Ryan hushes him every time. He’s happy to be home.

 

* * *

 

Life takes some getting used to but there is so much to experience again, and Shane drinks it all in with new eyes. They go to the ocean. Shane loves the outdoors and always has but even more so now that he has his second chance. Having spent a large proportion of the last year either stuck in the apartment or various inside locations he’s incredibly prone to cabin fever. He has to go outside at least once a day, come rain or shine, even if it’s just around the block and back. It’s a need born from his ‘dead days’ as they’ve come to call them but it’s a healthy one, good for his body and mind, so says his therapist.

The ocean is both captivating and calming, just enough going on to alight his senses. There’s the rocks and pebbles beneath his feet, sand between his toes and the crash and scent of the water. There’s wind in his hair and the sound of gulls circling overhead. But it’s never too loud. They never go when the beach will be heavily populated or to the popular stretches, preferring to clamber over slippery rocks hand in hand, or sit side by side on the sand, watching the tide come in and chase them back to solid ground. He’s a sucker for sensation now, savours it and incorporates it all into his soul. He catalogues each feeling and plays the days out over and over again.

Their lives are always on film, Ryan’s Instagram is finally flooded with pictures of the two of them, and of course they have countless videos featuring them, both courtesy of their jobs but also just because. They document it all, record the essence of themselves and store it away for a rainy day. There are hard drives and photo albums, all treasured as much as life itself.

When Shane forgets, when the numbness crawls into the crevices between his bones they look at them, watch the footage back and he may not feel better but at least he remembers why he’s here, what there is to see and do, what he’s capable of. He can see himself smiling, laughing, kissing Ryan, holding him, hugging Allie, petting her stupid cat. There are piles and endless folders of photos of every friend and family member, every holiday and birthday, every smile. Sometimes Ryan shows him the stuff Shane has made, videos that are his favourites and tenderly tells him why. He’ll even read him nice comments on his work. He takes every opportunity to remind him of his achievements and accolades and Shane does his best to return the favour, to remind Ryan that, he makes living so much better. With Ryan by his side he remembers he’s alive and this is why, to have these experiences, to be feeling, when he can.

 

* * *

 

Dying isn’t easy. George Washington was wrong, for multiple reasons. It often hurts, it is rarely a sweet release, it is painful and it is always irreversible. Shane died. He felt it, viscerally. He was granted a second chance, a miracle that he’ll spend the rest of his days wondering if he deserves. The grief, fear, pain, it was real even if most of those who felt it don’t remember it. He died and it destroyed him as much as it destroyed his loved ones. Dying _isn’t_ easy, sometimes it’s just quick, an accident, a choice and everything is gone. Living is hard but by God does he live.

He’s glad to be alive as he stumbles over rocks on the shore. Ryan walks ahead of him, hand groping backwards, searching Shane out as he wobbles on an unsteady outcrop. He laughs, a quiet and weak sound that is whipped away by the wind but he can see the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth as he hears it and he feels himself warm. He catches him, tangles their fingers together and wraps his arms around his waist. They’ve walked far enough. There’s no one else but them and the sky is overcast as the sea continues to lap against the shoreline, untameable. It’s been a tough week. Ryan is overworked and Shane hasn’t slept well in days so now they’re here, back at the coast, breathing.

Everything is so sharp, so clear, the salt from the waves and the slight chill in the sea air. Ryan sways with him, feet planted amongst the jagged rocks and he seems immovable, an anchor amongst the changing tides. Shane loves him. So much. They breathe in tandem and Shane has never felt so grounded than in this moment, like something is shifting and settling in his bones as he just stands, looking out at the horizon, Ryan’s warmth against him. “Whatcha thinking about?” Ryan asks, voice light as he rubs his palms up and down Shane’s forearms.

“That I’m feeling better.” He says, proud of himself for telling the truth rather than glazing over the real reason they’re here with sarcasm. Ryan hums and Shane can tell he’s pleased with his answer. “What about you?” He asks, pressing a tender kiss to his temple.

“Better.” He says simply. He’s tired, Shane can see it in the line of his mouth and the slow blink of his eyes as he watches the tide inch closer. He slumps a little, leans a little more of his weight back against his chest. Shane holds him a little tighter, fondness fluttering in his chest. “Man we’re getting good at this huh?” He says with a laugh and Ryan just makes a confused noise in his throat before turning in his arms, looking up at him confused. “You know, at getting better? We’re good at getting better.” It’s awkward and inelegant but Ryan seems to understand what he means nodding with a soft, proud smile. “Fuck yeah we are.” He says, entwining their fingers together. “Let’s go home, I wanna make out on the couch.” Shane’s laugh bursts from him but fuck if that isn’t the best idea he’s heard all day.

They turn away from the tide, hands clasped between them as they clamber back toward the car. “You wanna stop at Walmart before we go home?” Shane asks, driven by love and nostalgia alone, even if he’ll be delaying their making out he’s sure they’ll find a scented candle that’ll get them riled up enough to steal kisses by the kitchenware. Ryan beams at him, tugging him forward. Shane stumbles, unsteady legs on unsteadier ground but Ryan catches him, kisses him until he can barely breathe. “It’s a date big guy.” He says softly, tugging him along and Shane follows, just like he’d follow him anywhere.

It’s later, traipsing round a brightly lit Walmart, watching Ryan yawn hideously, rubbing at his eyes from beneath his glasses that Shane realises he might just be okay. Dying wasn’t easy and living is hard, he thinks. But dying wasn’t worth it and living always, _always_ is.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap folks (but I can be persuaded to write a thousand oneshots because I can't let go so please I'm begging shh don't mention it yell at me on [tumblr](https://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/) about it).
> 
> When I started writing this fic I had it marked down as a supernatural caper, an undead jaunt. Then it became something entirely new. It's hard to articulate how precious this story has become to me, how much of myself is now in it. A couple of weeks into this story I took a trip to see a doctor and I walked out of that office newly diagnosed with depression. My experiences have in many ways shaped this story and to hear that it's resonated with some of you who've been with the story from the start is something indescribably special.
> 
> I wanted to tell a story of recovery, of hope, something real and tangible when so often all there is is despair and numbness and isolation. I wanted to tell you that there is so much to live for. There's a whole world out there and sometimes you get the bonus of a loved one to share it with.
> 
> So thank you all for reading this silly little story of mine. It's been a real hoot. The response has been astronomical and beyond my wildest dreams to the point I have a whole [tag](http://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/tagged/a-ghoul's-guide) dedicate to the art and playlists this dumb lil' thing has inspired. Thank you for your time and your hits, kudos and bookmarks but most of all your kind words. Thank you for telling me that I made you mad or cry or laugh. After all that's what we're here for.


End file.
